


Love Bites

by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Anal Sex, Biting, Bloodplay, Dom/sub, Kink Study, M/M, Novella, Possessive Behavior, Power Dynamics, Romance, Trust, Vampire Sex, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-01
Updated: 2011-08-22
Packaged: 2017-10-22 01:50:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 33,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/232405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneWhoSitsWithTurtles/pseuds/OneWhoSitsWithTurtles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The team is back together for a new job, but this time their mark has a vampire kink they will have to take advantage of in order to succeed. Eames volunteers. Arthur is unimpressed. Arthur/Eames</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I. The Premise

**Author's Note:**

> **You can check out[here](http://onewhositswiththeturtles.tumblr.com/) to follow my Tumblr for info about me and story updates.**
> 
> Motivations for writing this:
> 
> Firstly, I am very unhappy with how modern media (novels, television, movies) have begun to portray vampires. There are many different ways of portraying a vampire, but I’m just going to say that Twilight isn’t the right direction for me. But more than simply focusing on the fictional notion of vampires, I am also intrigued by the self-proclaimed ‘real vampires’ in our society. There are many varying opinions on this subculture, but I found a video years ago that perked my interest.
> 
> “Vampires’ Etiquette for Blood Drinking” - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ztU1FAC-YnQ
> 
> I’m going to say right off the bat that this documentary seems rather biased against the standpoint of these vampires, but I think if you watch it with a neutral view, it is very interesting no matter what your personal beliefs are. I forgot about the video for a while, but certain aspects stayed with me. Specifically, the conversation between the vampire and his donor explaining the ‘bond’ and emotions shared during the moment. The idea stayed with me and then Arthur/Eames came along and gave me the pairing that fit in my mind for me to explore this.
> 
> The novella is going to be a mixture between a character study and a kink exploration. There will be scenes depicting some of what you’d expect to see with this sort of kink/fetish. I mean no disrespect to anyone who has more experience with this subculture than me, nor do I wish to make anyone uncomfortable. This is for my own curiosity and interest as much as it is for you guys. It will also be a fun challenge for me since I find the kink equally appealing and unappealing.
> 
> Lastly, I would like to stress the health risks related to this sort of behaviour. For the purpose of this story, all of these behaviours will be occurring in the dream state with the assumption that both Arthur and Eames are completely clean. However, I do recognize the serious potential risks of blood sharing, including infection and the transmission of STIs and HIV.
> 
> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy the story with an open mind, whether this is one of your kinks, something you find unappealing, or something you have never considered before.

**Part I. The Premise**

 **  
**

“...You’re joking, right?” Arthur snorted lightly in disbelief as he glanced around the room quickly. Eames watched, amused, as the Point Man’s mild smirk wavered and finally fell when no one else began laughing. He watched as Arthur’s sudden resolve seemed to turn his face to stone. “No, absolutely not.”

 

“Arthur, there’s no one else who can play the part,” Cobb insisted calmly, trying to reason with the man who looked incredibly uninterested in being reasoned with.

 

“Look,” Arthur began, voice ice cold as he held up a hand to keep the Extractor from approaching him. “I collected the information you needed, just as I promised. I don’t even know _why_ you called me in on this with how simple the job will be.”

 

“I called you in on the job because I trust you,” Dom sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “And I know that you, more than anyone, are willing to do whatever it takes to get the job done well.”

 

Eames slid his gaze back to Arthur, who was crossing his arms and trying to look less ruffled by the suggestion than he clearly was. “I never signed up for this.”

 

“You wound me, darling,” Eames chimed in before Cobb could continue the circling argument. “I might almost believe that you want no part in this relationship with me,” he added sarcastically, wishing to rile the man up more. Arthur – poised, professional Arthur – was always terribly fun to pester.

 

Arthur’s gaze, which had been purposefully avoiding Eames since Cobb’s proposition, suddenly focused on the Forger with such intensity Eames found himself fighting the desire to flinch away. “You’re damn right I don’t--!”

 

“Arthur, really,” Ariadne’s soft voice cut in, effectively ruining Eames’s plan to actually get the Point Man to raise his voice over a dull drawl. “Would it really be so bad?”

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Arthur bit out, though Eames noted how the man’s shoulders relaxed slightly when the young Architect placed a calming hand on his arm.

 

“Arthur,” Dom began again, “The job is simple and quick – we’ll be done by the end of the week. And for a few hours of discomfort in the dream, we’ll all be significantly richer.”

 

“It’s not that--” Arthur’s voice sounded defensive as he levelled his gaze to his friend. If Eames was correct – and he usually was when reading non-verbal cues – Arthur was feeling cornered.

 

“What _exactly_ is the issue, pet?” Eames questioned curiously, surprised that Arthur was so against the proposed plan for their job. Sure, it wasn’t their normal method of gaining an upper hand over their mark, and Eames wasn’t entirely thrilled with the role he would be taking on either. But Arthur was professional to a fault, always willing to do whatever it took. Now, however, the man was leaning back against the sturdy wooden table in the warehouse with false calm; his back was straight and tense as though he was expecting a fight. “I don’t bite...Well,” Eames smirked, tipping his chair back on two legs, “Not _usually_.”

 

Eames was lucky that looks couldn’t kill, Arthur’s chestnut brown eyes landing on him and gleaming sharply in the morning sunlight sneaking in through cracked windows. He watched in mounting curiosity as Arthur’s lips curled slightly in what could only be described as a silent snarl – teeth bared. But then, just when something interesting might happen, Arthur seemed to reel himself back in and turned back to Dom. “If anything, shouldn’t I be trading roles with Eames?” he asked the Extractor, blatantly ignoring Eames’s question.

 

“You were the one who collected the information,” Dom reminded the man, sounding apologetic. “You know better than anyone the mark’s tastes.”

 

“Yeah,” Eames joined in quickly, miffed that he was being ignored. “As your report says, he likes a muscled, tanned, _gorgeous_ vampire with light hair and lighter eyes. And...” he curled his tongue over his front teeth teasingly, forgoing his own discomfort over his new role to pass his discomfort onto the Point Man. “He likes seeing the vampire with a skinny, pale... _pet_.”

 

“ _Partner_ ,” Arthur snapped, Eames silently noting how those cheeks grew slightly flushed. The Forger logged away that returning look of defensiveness for later consideration before grinning widely, showing his own – currently flat – teeth. “And when the hell have you ever heard of a vampire with a _tan_?” Arthur added with disdain. “I’m the one who looks more like a stereotypical vampire.”

 

“Does that mean you want to bite me, darling?” Eames smirked, tilting his head to the side and purposefully baring the column of his throat. “All you had to do was ask.”

 

“I didn’t say that,” the Point Man hissed, his dark eyes skirting over Eames carefully to glance over at Ariadne, no doubt in hope of some support. “All I’m saying is that you will make a shitty vampire.”

 

“I don’t know...” the Architect roamed her eyes over Eames critically, her lips quirking upward slightly. “I can see it.”

 

“And we can’t really work around the mark’s tastes,” Cobb lamented, sending Eames a quieting glare before he could add something more to anger their Point Man. “It doesn’t make any sense to have you attempt a forgery to look like Eames when you both already look the part.”

 

“It’s not just the look though, is it, doll?” Eames watched Arthur closely, aware that the other man was still tense and clearly forcing himself to remain still to the point that he was practically vibrating with suppressed energy. “What really has you on edge, love?” he asked, almost softly.

 

He was aware of the rest of their team, Dom and Ariadne, glancing at him in surprise before refocusing on Arthur, but that wasn’t what held Eames’s attention. Arthur’s eyes had landed on him and sharpened warningly – a clear _back off_. Eames considered the warning, wondering if he had stumbled across some hidden boundary that would pass beyond his friendly teasing into something much more dangerous. “I’ll do the job,” Arthur finally conceded, rather than answering the question.

 

The other two dream workers in the room sighed in relief, no doubt aware of the tenseness in the air. Eames didn’t allow himself to relax though, nearly holding his breath as those eyes continued to hold his own. “What is it?” he whispered, almost to himself, voice barely escaping as his lips mouthed the words. He was a curious man, he always had been. That was why he enjoyed learning every little quirk about an individual – coming to understand them so intimately he could _be_ them. It was a fault of his that had gotten him in trouble more than once, but he couldn’t bring himself to mind.

 

Arthur had always been a mystery to him though, always hidden away and safe from Eames’s prying eyes and questions behind a shell of indifference. He loved to tease the man to see Arthur express something that ranged beyond the category of _mild_ – mild disdain, mild disappointment, mild stress, mild agitation. Eames wanted to see the human beneath, as he did with everyone else he came across, but Arthur was the first person to deny him that knowledge. Yet here he was, Arthur wavering on the edge of something that could be far more than _mild_ , and Eames couldn’t even understand how they had gotten here. “I’ll grab lunch,” the Point Man offered the group before snatching his wallet from his desk and heading for the door.

 

#

 

He watched silently from his favourite chair as Arthur returned with a full bag, placed it on a central table, and snuck his own carton of food away to his corner. Eames was doing his best to take on his new role even in reality, watching Arthur like a hungry predator. That was what he was supposed to do for this role, right? He was supposed to stalk the Point Man like prey. It was surprisingly easy to fall into that mindset, the realization of this somewhat disturbing when he took too much time thinking about it. But Eames reminded himself that this is what he did best – watched those who caught his interest and followed them until he was satisfied.

 

It was still odd though, Eames not entirely knowing all of the layers this role would entail. He knew how to watch Arthur as one professional to another, and as one teammate to another; he would look to his Point Man for direction. He also knew how to watch Arthur as a Forger watching his mark; a distant, acceptable interest in knowing the details of the other man without crossing invisible boundaries. However, Eames had no clue about how to watch Arthur as prey or, even more confusing to consider, a partner.

 

He didn’t know what this vampire-prey relationship entailed, except from what he had seen in corny old black and white vampire movies. But he doubted that would pass, the views and behaviours of vampires rehashed for each new decade of media. And this was a modern day subculture he was talking about, not a role in a movie he was auditioning for. What did these people do to get their kicks? Wear fake pointed teeth, hang out in dark-lit clubs and drink red wine?

 

Arthur had corrected Eames earlier – _partner_ , he had said; not prey. But what did _that_ mean? If Eames had simply been asked to go down into the dream, forge some fangs, bite Arthur and be done with it, he wouldn’t be terribly concerned. The thought of doing something like that didn’t exactly appeal to him – he was used to blood from combat but the thought of drinking it had him grimacing – but he knew he could suppress his discomfort and do what was necessary.

 

But he was being asked to forge a relationship – a kink – that occurred in real life, minus the real fangs and the guarantee that you wouldn’t bleed out or get sick. Eames needed to make sure that his forgery didn’t come off as some corny hack job; he had to be convincing. And that involved understanding a mindset he could barely wrap his head around. Not to mention the fact that he would have to find some working balance between himself and Arthur or else all the acting in the world wouldn’t fool the mark.

 

Curious and a little frustrated with his internal confusion, Eames snatched his own carton of food from the bag and wandered over to Arthur’s corner of the warehouse. He was used to seeing piles of files and folders stacked so high and precisely they could be walls of a fortress. But this job was, as Cobb had said, simple. There wasn’t a vast amount of information for any individual team member – each one saddled with only a few stuffed folders – and Arthur had fallen into the habit of storing most data on his portable laptop for safety precautions.

 

“So are you going to tell me what’s got your knickers in a twist?” he asked conversationally as he stood by the edge of the other man’s desk, digging his fork into his noodles and veg.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Arthur hedged, keeping his attention fixed on the laptop screen. Eames noticed that the food had been forgotten, left to cool after only a few small bites by the look of the carton.

 

“You’re not very good at lying, pet,” Eames chided, shoving his mouth full with more food. “Did anyone ever take pity on you and tell you that before?”

 

He could see Arthur’s grimace when Eames spoke through his mouthful, and didn’t respond for a minute. There were a few minutes of silence that crept by with agonizing slowness, Arthur clearly trying to wait Eames out until he got bored. The Forger already felt the desire to shift his weight around but forced himself to remain still, waiting as patiently as he could manage. “Can I help you with something, Mr. Eames?” Arthur finally sighed, turning away from his laptop and looking none too pleased with the fact.

 

“As a matter of fact...” Eames paused, his normal responses aimed to piss the Point Man off on the tip of his tongue. He swallowed these and treaded carefully, “You can help ease some of my confusion.”

 

“I’m not sure anyone is capable of that,” Arthur spoke slowly, as if admitting to a patient that he could not be cured.

 

“Humour me, darling,” he swallowed the rest of his food and kept himself from taking another bite. However delicious the sauce on the noodles was, he wasn’t going to get any real answers from the Point Man if he was being an obnoxious pig. Eames licked his lips nervously and tapped his fork against the carton, antsy as he waited for Arthur’s approval to continue the conversation.

 

He watched as Arthur glanced away quickly, studying the rough wood of the unpolished desk for a moment before glancing back up. It was clear the other man realized he would never find any peace until Eames was satisfied. “What could you possibly care to know?”

 

Eames knew he could immediately jump on his primary question, cornering Arthur until he finally admitted what his issue with this job was. But that was likely to bring the Point Man’s defences up again and ruin this momentary freedom to ask whatever question he wished. Instead, he thought back to his previous concerns about his role, deciding that getting Arthur involved in shop talk might make him loosen up. “I was wondering if you could explain my role in a little more detail.”

 

“Were the documents I prepared for you not sufficient?” Arthur asked critically, glancing past the Forger to the blatantly untouched pile of folders on a nearby chair. Even though he knew Arthur knew the answer already, he was surprised that the man still waited for him to attempt some lie. Eames searched for something sarcastic or witty to say, but was distracted with the way sharp brown eyes trailed over him – reading him; maybe Arthur _would_ be the better option for the role. “You haven’t even read the documents yet,” The Point Man eventually broke the silence, “And yet you are asking me questions. How is this productive?”

 

“Maybe I just like to hear you explain things verbally, darling,” Eames retorted weakly, unsure of why his brain was suddenly acting sluggish in its comebacks.

 

“Doubtful,” Arthur seemed to sweep the argument aside easily, returning his gaze to the computer screen and looking bored.

 

Annoyed now, Eames reached over and pressed his finger down on the power button of the other dream worker’s laptop before the man could retaliate. The computer gave a farewell beep before the screen blackened. There was a moment of silence where both men seemed frozen, Eames not daring to breathe as he felt a distinct chill of worry for his life wash over him. But Arthur didn’t move; he simply remained seated like moulded stone, blinking at the blank screen. “Now that I have your full attention,” Eames ground out – Arthur ignoring him one of his biggest pet peeves, “Tell me why you are so against doing this job with me.”

 

Arthur was silent for another minute, and the Forger began to wonder if he had broken the man. But Arthur eventually stirred, glancing up at Eames and looking incredibly tired all of a sudden. “Just go read your folders, Mr. Eames,” the Point Man ordered, though surprisingly it sounded somewhat closer to a request. “If intelligence still eludes you when you’re done, come and ask me questions.”

 

Eames blinked at the other man, shocked that he hadn’t gotten punched in the face yet. Arthur looked strained and stiff in his movements as he turned back to the computer, powering it up slowly. He wasn’t sure if the other man was acting or if Eames really had accidently overstepped his boundaries, but either way Eames was quickly beginning to feel like shit. Guilt causing his stomach to churn uncomfortably, he awkwardly nudged Arthur’s forgotten carton of food closer to the man’s elbow. “Eat up, love,” he requested in return, already turning to flee. “There’s a difference between being wiry and unhealthy.”

 

He could feel the heavy weight of Arthur’s eyes on his back as he promptly shuffled back to his folders of information, but he didn’t have the courage to turn around and meet the stare.

 

#

 

It was late. Eames had been yawning so frequently while reading that he could feel tears building up and threatening to spill over at the corners of his eyes. He swiped at them distractedly as he flipped to the next sheet of information in his second of three folders. It had been a long day, and a relatively quiet one. Ariadne had been off with her sketch books all day, drawing out details and mazes every moment she didn’t have her nose in books she and Dom had gone out to collect.

 

Eames had watched her trot across the echoing warehouse later in the afternoon, easily stealing Arthur’s attention as she flipped through a few pages of drawings. He had felt a small itch of bitterness across his skin at how readily Arthur turned to listen – the young Architect requiring no tricks for that attention. Eames had forced himself to turn away from their conversation though, performing a false interest in his readings. He pretended not to see the way Arthur nodded adamantly at Ariadne’s suggestions, even though he couldn’t avoid seeing over the top of his reading material.

 

Not long after that, when Ariadne had returned to her work quietly, he had seen Dom approach Arthur’s desk quickly. Their conversation had begun quietly, voices so soft Eames couldn’t even discern what they were saying across the short distance. But then the Extractor’s voice had started to rise in volume, Arthur’s matching it as the Point Man’s tiredness ate away at his patience. “I need the mark’s schedule by tomorrow morning Arthur; otherwise we’ll be a day behind in surveillance.”

 

“I am well aware of that fact, Dom,” Arthur sighed, sitting back in his chair and looking worn out.

 

“Are you sure? Because you were the one who wanted this job done as quickly as possible,” Cobb crossed his arms, leaning against the corner of Arthur’s desk with his back facing Eames. The Forger could only see Arthur’s face because he was leaning so far back in his chair. He could tell the man’s agitation was growing with the way those expressive eyebrows furrowed tightly. “If I don’t have that schedule, I cannot assess your three suggestions for abduction points. We might even miss our chance to pick the mark up entirely.”

 

“I know, Dom,” Arthur said again, voice growing louder to speak over the other man. “I’ll have it under your hotel room door before dawn and you can begin surveillance as planned.”

 

“What happened, Arthur?” Dom asked, voice sounding softer this time. “You said you had already completed it this morning.”

 

Eames felt his throat constrict when Arthur’s gaze flickered over to him for the briefest moment before looking back up at their Extractor. He realized then, with a heavy sinking feeling, that he must have turned off Arthur’s laptop before the man had been able to save his work. He waited for the Point Man to blame him and for Cobb’s punishment to follow swiftly, but instead he was surprised by Arthur’s next words. “I know I did, but I found a few things that needed adjustment. A faulty schedule is as useless as a missing one.”

 

“Alright, it’s fine,” Dom placed a strong hand on Arthur’s shoulder, rumpling the pressed fabric of the man’s button-up shirt. “Don’t worry about it. Just have it under my door by tomorrow morning.”

 

The Extractor stood and left then, returning to his own work. Arthur caught Eames’s eyes across the short distance of warehouse – Eames’s chair closest of the others to Arthur’s desk. Eames didn’t know what to say though, an apology seeming flat now that the damage had been done, and Arthur returned his weary gaze to the computer. The Forger swallowed, feeling even guiltier with Arthur saving him from the blame when Eames really didn’t deserve such a gesture.

 

He forced himself to turn back to his work but couldn’t concentrate, too occupied with mentally kicking himself. Eames always forgot how much work Arthur poured into a job before the rest of the team even arrived – collecting information, developing strategies, assessing risk. Even when the Point Man seemed to want nothing to do with this job, he had probably already put in at least a week’s worth of time and effort. All Eames had done was grab his PASIV, pick up some chemicals and well wishes from Yusuf, who had been too involved in developing a new compound at the time to join in on this job, and book the next flight to Miami.

 

As the Forger turned back to his sheets of information – which Arthur had painstakingly collected and organized for him – Eames figured he knew why the other man had no interest in sharing this role with him. The details about what his role entailed, especially the sections explaining how he was supposed to behave with his partner, had Eames shaking his head in disbelief. Eames was the _last_ person Arthur would ever want to share this with – even if it was fake. He had thought the dynamic between vampire and donor would simply be carnal as they shared a moment of passion while indulging in fetishes. Instead, Eames was beginning to realize that the proper dynamic was one of intimate lovers. Absolutely none of what was expected of them fit their relationship at all and with the way things were going, Eames doubted that would ever change.

 

He had not realized this at first because the first folder had all been filled with clinical details, the framework to mould his forgery before he began adding on the layers. It explained the scenes that were typical for people who indulged in this, though the details were vague since Ariadne would be the one building the dreamscape for them to work in. But he could gather enough to know that, while they would be visible to the projections and the mark in the room, the scene would still be soft-lit, dark, and intimate.

 

The first folder also gave exquisite detail on what he would be expected to look and dress like, as well as what to expect from Arthur as the other half of this role. Eames had wondered at first if Arthur had merely snuck in the notes on dressing proper to indulge the man’s taste in fashion, but soon realized that it was all part of the mystique. Even though he would not be recreating the olden time vampires, the feel of the fetish as something distinctly modern mixed with the past, he would still be dressed well. He supposed people, whether in Victorian times or modern times, would envision a vampire as someone powerful, wealthy and cultured, and Eames had to play that part.

 

Arthur had been kind – evil – enough to include some coloured photographs in the first folder. The men’s clothing had all looked tailored to their form, materials either soft and loose – a few black shirts with the fabric purposefully unbuttoned – or hard and unyielding – some sets of leather pants leaving little to the imagination. Although Eames had been unsure of what to expect, the thought of biting and blood play leaving him equally uncomfortable and curious, he could feel his body stirring at the noticeable hints of BDSM play in the attire. That shouldn’t have surprised him, of course, the whole dynamic of a power exchange and the biting and blood certainly containing some element of pain, but it had still caught his imagination off guard.

 

The third subsection of the first folder had been organized like a crash course on the subculture. There was a list of terms he should know the meaning of and be comfortable using, as well as a separate list for words to avoid. There were pages explaining the different behaviours and interactions that would be accepted or shunned in a club, both with a single individual in different roles or with a couple. The lists went on and on and on. Eames had given up on memorizing at one point and taken a ten minute walk around the building, bewildered that there was so much etiquette involved in being a vampire.

 

He had wanted to give up for the day, to slink away to his hotel room with his PASIV to begin attempting to incorporate all of his current information. But it had still been early evening at that point, everyone just polishing off their haphazard dinners and returning to work, and Eames felt like he should work until Arthur left; after all, he was busy working because Eames had erased his work. That had left him facing the second of two unopened folders, groaning his protest to himself before flicking it open grudgingly.

 

The second folder was smaller, thankfully, and focused on only one subject. Unfortunately, that subject had him feeling even more discomforted and nervous about the prospect of completing this job with Arthur. This gave Eames a picture of the dynamic – the relationship – he would have to forge with Arthur, and the thought had him biting his lip. Despite the fact that Eames spent a good portion of his days pestering Arthur whenever he and the Point Man happened to end up on a job together, this was far beyond anything he would ever even allow himself to imagine.

 

The man clearly had a sweet, young Architect on his mind; the Forger was simply a pesky bug buzzing around Arthur’s ear. That was fine by him – remaining the annoying team member was much safer than considering the possibility of more. He had shrugged off the infatuation that had developed during Inception easily, buried the remains carefully, given a salute and moved on. Eames would admit that he hadn’t been able to walk away without looking back on occasion; Arthur was as beautiful as he was infuriating. But that had been the extent of it – a few stolen glances, one or two guilty daydreams, and then Arthur had been placed under a safe, impersonal category in the Forger’s mind.

 

How was he supposed to forge such an intimate connection with Arthur after abandoning that thought entirely? After moving on? After forgetting – almost – that those feelings had ever existed in the first place; their harsh banter and teasing the new flirtations? After the realization that it was only a matter of time until Arthur and Ariadne got together? It would be difficult enough to draw those emotions up again without falling into their grasp again, let alone developing that sort of intimacy with a straight, uptight Point Man.

 

Just as he had suspected with the descriptions of clothing, behaviour and etiquette, there were definitely some dominance/submission and sadism/masochism elements to the relationship he would be creating. Playing the vampire, Eames would be the one in control and the one dealing out pain in the form of bites. However, it was also his duty as the dominant player to care for his partner, to make sure nothing went too far and that nothing happened that Arthur wasn’t comfortable with. Arthur would have to look to him for instruction, but Eames would have to be the one to constantly keep his eye on his Point Man.

 

As much as the donor would be the submissive in the dynamic, Arthur would also have the most power. He would willingly be giving up his control to Eames; that meant he could just as easily revoke that privilege. Arthur had added a little note in his own neat script at the bottom of a page, explaining how this was supposed to play on mythology; vampires were all powerful over humans, but they were also vitally reliant on them to survive.

 

This didn’t sound like something two co-workers and rare, occasional friends should share. The understanding, devotion and trust required to have a dynamic like this with someone seemed like some idealized fantasy.

 

It was around that time when he dropped the second folder to the tabletop tired, yawning again. Eames stretched in his chair and regarded the quiet warehouse, trying to find something to distract himself; he didn’t want to admit that he was feeling overwhelmed. Half of the warehouse was dark, Dom and Ariadne having excused themselves just twenty minutes prior. They had explained that they were going to check out a few local clubs for some insight on the atmosphere and setting. Eames had waved them off and Arthur hadn’t even looked up from his laptop, still busy fixing the Forger’s foolish mistake.

 

This thought returned his attention to the Point Man and the near-constant sound of fingers flying across a metallic keyboard. Eames still didn’t want to leave before Arthur could head home for some sleep, guilt still a prominent lump in his stomach, but he had to get away from his folders of information. He headed for the door quietly, not expecting Arthur to say anything but also feeling uncomfortable leaving without saying anything. “I’ll be back soon, darling,” he offered, voice echoing.

 

Arthur didn’t show any sign of registering Eames comment, or at least showed no sign of planning to respond. So Eames slipped out and headed down the street, searching for something to feed his twisting stomach. It felt good to feel the warm, fresh breeze on his face, his mind clearing of overwhelming thoughts he didn’t feel like considering right then. He took his time making his food selection and returning to the warehouse, doubting the Point Man had noticed his absence anyway.

 

Just as he had suspected, Arthur hadn’t moved since he had left. When Eames crossed the warehouse silently to stand beside the other man’s desk, he could see how stressed and tired Arthur was. Dark circles were beginning to form beneath darting brown eyes, black smudges accented by the shadows of the warehouse lighting. Not knowing what to say and lacking the energy to stumble through an awkward conversation, Eames simply set his box of treasures down on Arthur’s desk. He could see that the dream worker’s lunch had been tackled more, only about a third of noodles remaining, but Eames was silently grateful he had thought to pick something up for both of them to eat.

 

The Point Man jolted slightly in surprise and blinked up at Eames owlishly, eyes darting between the covered box, the Forger, and the tiny clock on the laptop screen. “When did you leave?”

 

“About twenty minutes ago. I needed some air and something to eat,” Eames shrugged, pushing back the lid of the box to reveal two rows of iced cinnamon buns.

 

He watched Arthur watch him, amused and slightly concerned by the other man’s delayed understanding. “You didn’t need to bring me food,” Arthur argued slowly, sounding slightly unsure of whether he was being stubborn about the right subject.

 

“I never said they were for you,” Eames teased, demonstratively plucking one of the sticky buns from the box and taking a messy bite. “Though...” he continued after swallowing, licking away some stray icing, noticing Arthur’s unwavering gaze. “I suppose I could relinquish one...” He watched in growing amusement as the Point Man’s eyes dropped to the box, tempted, and then return to the computer. “Alright, suit yourself--”

 

Eames barely managed to get a hand around the outside of the box to lift it before Arthur’s hand had grasped it to keep it on the table. “Wait!” the tired dream worker demanded quickly, snatching up a cinnamon bun before Eames could escape with them.

 

The Forger watched, intrigued, as Arthur bit into the pastry. Icing smeared across the man’s upper lip and those dark eyelashes fluttered closed, one corner of Arthur’s mouth hinting towards the possibility of a smile. “Good, pet?”

 

Arthur scowled, even as he chewed and took another bite. “It’s passable.”

 

“Good,” Eames chuckled at the man’s stubbornness. “Because I lied. I bought them for you to eat.”

 

He was pinned in place by a critical eye, Arthur scrutinizing him. Arthur glanced at his laptop and then back at Eames as he pulled out another cinnamon bun, devouring this one at a more reasonable pace. “Why are you still here? It’s late.”

 

“I could ask you the same thing,” Eames countered as he stole another pastry. He noticed Arthur’s eyes narrowing in sudden anger, no doubt remembering why, exactly, he was stuck here so late. “Except I already know. I’m sorry about that, darling; I didn’t know.”

 

Arthur watched him for a long time once he had fallen silent, not saying anything. Eventually, feeling self-conscious, Eames swiped at his cheeks to make sure there was no stray icing smeared there. He could tell Arthur was studying him, thinking hard about something – possibly considering his apology – but seemed to abandon the consideration. “You should head back to the hotel. You’re focus is terrible when you’re tired.”

 

Eames snorted, unable to be offended at the truth, and debated what to say. Admitting that he was hanging around to keep Arthur company out of guilt would cause the man’s stubbornness to re-emerge – something Eames didn’t feel like fighting right then. Choosing a different tactic, he sighed. “I think I’ve figured out why you don’t want to do this job with me, love,” he offered tentatively.

 

He watched Arthur snatch up a third bun, giving him a glare that challenged him to comment on the action. Eames was tempted to take the last bun but decided Arthur needed it more since the dream worker had not eaten dinner or most of his lunch. Instead, he idly licked off the icing and cinnamon from his fingers, waiting for the Point Man to respond. “And why would that be?” Arthur watched him seriously.

 

“The relationship we’ll need to fake; it’s...intimate. I get it,” the Forger shrugged, taking note of the way the other man’s shoulders had tensed. “I promise that it’ll stay completely professional, okay? I know I have a habit of flirting a lot,” Eames ran his fingers through his hair nervously, forgetting their stickiness from the pastries until it was too late. “But I swear it’s just for fun, yeah?” He knew that if he and Arthur were going to pull this off, they’d have to bury the hostilities and discomfort. “We’ll do what we have to for the job and then move on, sound good?”

 

Arthur didn’t say anything. He didn’t tell Eames he was wrong...  He didn’t tell Eames he was right, either. Arthur’s eyes, sharpened by the artificial lighting of the computer screen, trailed across his face for a moment, possibly reading his sincerity. Then he turned back to his work, fingers returning to their home on the keys. Eames wanted to ask what Arthur thought of the proposition, if it made him more willing to take part in the job. He wanted to ask a lot of questions – more than he had had mere seconds prior. But pushing things would do no good. “Go home and get some sleep, Mr. Eames,” was all Arthur said as way of concluding the conversation.

 

Eames wavered for another long moment, hoping Arthur might say something – anything – else, even if just to snap at him. But he didn’t, the Point Man focused on his assignment again, and Eames was forced to turn away. Feeling defeated, Eames packed up his PASIV, shoved the folders into the brief case alongside the silver metal case, and left the warehouse in pursuit of a hotel bed and a dreamless sleep.

 

#

 

Two days later, things got much worse.

 

Eames had known he had done or said something wrong the next morning when he had come into the warehouse to find the final cinnamon bun still in its box, shoved to the bottom of a trash can – stale and untouched. He swallowed thickly at the rejection, knowing it had to be deliberate with how much Arthur had been enjoying the pastries the night before. He didn’t mention it though, calling out a hello that the Point Man didn’t return before slinking away to his corner and folders.

 

He thought that would be the worst of it, Arthur not even acknowledging his existence as Eames worked through the third and final folder. The Forger had been itching to ask Arthur questions as he continued to read through detailed notes, this entire folder on the biting aspect of the forgery. He had been too scared to approach the man though, noticing that Arthur was still busy and focused on his computer despite the fact that Eames was sure the schedule had been under Cobb’s door by dawn as promised. The Point Man seemed to be waiting for an excuse to commit murder, even snapping at Ariadne when she brought over a sketchpad to clarify some details.

 

Eames had avoided Arthur like the plague after watching the Architect smack Arthur loudly on the arm with her booklet and stalk away. Fifteen minutes later, Ariadne was dragging a chair across the concrete to sit beside Eames, handing him a large cup of store-bought coffee. He raised a questioning eyebrow at her even as he took a grateful sip, the caffeine laced with the exact right amount of cream. “Arthur is PMSing, so I thought I’d go over my ideas with you,” Ariadne explained loudly, aware that her voice was carrying.

 

It was an automatic reaction when Eames snorted into his drink, effectively causing himself to choke and spill some searing liquid across his hand. Cursing loudly, he set his coffee down on the table before wiping the liquid off on his pant leg. He groaned helplessly when Ariadne snatched up his hand to inspect it for damage, the Forger’s gaze noticing the way Arthur had momentarily abandoned his work to glare at their close proximity. Eames wanted to yell that it wasn’t what it looked like, wanted to salvage the situation, but Arthur was already out of his chair and halfway to the exit before he could utter a word.

 

Eventually Eames was forced to give up on trying to find his way into Arthur’s good graces, everything seeming to anger the Point Man more. He had gone over Ariadne’s sketches with her, making a few suggestions to add some aspects he had been envisioning for the dreamscape while reading his information. She excused herself shortly after that, looking much happier than when she had arrived with the coffee, and disappeared to the hotel to continue working for the evening.

 

That left Eames with his final folder and Arthur working at his desk in stony silence. Cobb was out confirming a time, location, and plan for abducting the mark to get him to the warehouse, and Ariadne was gone. Again, Eames had felt the insistent desire to return to Arthur’s desk to ask questions or try to smooth things over, but he was sure he’d screw up again somehow. Instead, he packed up his belongings early and returned to the hotel silently, not bothering with a farewell when he knew it wouldn’t be returned.

 

He had spent the evening finishing up his readings and then hooked up to the PASIV. With all of the detail that had been provided for him, it was not difficult to forge the appearance and mannerisms he would need for the job. It was especially easy considering the fact that he didn’t need to change any of his physical appearance beyond the fangs, which he found himself touching his tongue to quite frequently, unnerved. Dreaming alone hadn’t been terribly helpful for practicing the dynamic or the biting techniques described in the final folder though, Eames not keen on biting himself, so he had given up and called it an early night.

 

When he entered the warehouse the next day, he had been prepared to deal with the new level of hatred Arthur had developed the day before. He told himself it couldn’t possibly get worse. But then Cobb arrived, later than the other three dream workers, and insisted that Eames and Arthur should begin practicing in-dream. “You can’t just forge the relationship and the techniques for the first time when we have the mark,” the Extractor reasoned while dropping a folder of information on the mark on Arthur’s desk.

 

There was a pregnant silence as everyone turned their attention to Arthur. Eames was nervous and uncomfortable with what he would have to do in the dream, but he hadn’t been the one who was so adamantly against this. Arthur looked up from his computer, stared at Eames for a long moment and then turned to glare at the Extractor. “No.”

 

“No?” Cobb asked in disbelief, no doubt shocked that his Point Man was being the most difficult member of the team when he was usually the most reliable. “What do you mean, no?”

 

“I mean no,” Arthur repeated, remaining seated. “Mr. Eames has read over the information I gave him. He doesn’t need anything more.”

 

“Eames?” Dom turned to him, looking cross and desperate for some backup.

 

The Forger knew that he could push the practice aside and maybe regain some of Arthur’s good graces. But... “I really do need the practice, darling,” he spoke to Arthur rather than to Cobb. “I’ve been working on the appearance on my own, but I have no idea how to do the dynamic or the...biting properly,” he paused briefly, feeling odd for discussing the concept of biting Arthur.

 

“Just know your anatomy and you’ll be fine,” the Point Man refuted. “You’re skilled enough to forge the dynamic and the mannerisms.”

 

Eames’s eyes narrowed. “Are you bribing me with praise?” he asked suspiciously.

 

“Is it working?” Arthur questioned. Eames realized that Arthur didn’t seem particularly angry...just trapped.

 

“Arthur, you cannot possibly guarantee to me that you two will manage to pull off a dynamic like this without any practice,” Cobb broke up the side conversation before it could really begin.

 

“And that’s beside the fact that Eames needs to know how to bite you without causing serious damage or causing you to bleed out,” Ariadne piped in, sounding worried as she fidgeted with her favourite pencil.

 

“Not to mention the fact that Eames needs to be able to drink some blood and not react negatively to it,” the Extractor added. “I don’t care how good of an actor you are, Eames,” he turned to him, “It’s going to be an odd experience for you to pretend to be accustomed to.”

 

“Tell me about it,” Eames sighed, sending a sidelong glance to Arthur, hoping it looked properly pleading. “If we’re going to do the job, we need to make sure we do it right. Wouldn’t you agree, love?”

 

Now Arthur looked really cornered, sitting alone on his end of the warehouse while the other three persuaded him into something he didn’t want to do. Eames didn’t know if it was discomfort over faking the dynamic or the thought of being bitten, or something else entirely. But he knew he would never find an answer without meeting the issue head on, nor would they be able to pull off the job and make their roles look genuine without practice. He did feel bad for forcing this upon Arthur, but the other dream worker wasn’t acting like himself and Eames wanted to know why.

 

Arthur sighed and crossed his arms, looking defeated. “Alright, fine. We’ll start practice after lunch.”


	2. Part II: The Set Up

**Part II. The Set Up**

 

The room around him when he blinked his eyes open was far more intimate than he had been expecting. It was even more surprising considering the fact that Arthur had been the one to create the dreamscape for them to work in. The room was small and dimly lit, wall lights turned low and barely lighting up fogged coloured glass. It reminded him of a small den in a cozy house, except that there weren’t any windows letting in natural light.

 

The carpet beneath his bare feet was soft and lush, thick thread sneaking between his toes. Eames found himself seated comfortably on a couch with cushions he could melt against. It took him only a second to find Arthur, the other man seated cross legged on the carpet with his back against the front of the couch. Arthur was looking him over critically, assessing the outfit the Forger had chosen for the role. He didn’t receive any verbal confirmation that his choices were acceptable, but he did notice Arthur swallow and nod briefly. “Join me on the floor.”

 

“Why?” Eames questioned, even as he slid himself off the couch to take a slightly less comfortable place on the floor next to Arthur.

 

“It’s easier to move around on the floor,” the Point Man explained as he carefully rolled up the sleeves of his black button-up shirt that looked incredibly soft to touch.

 

“Then why did you put a couch in the dreamscape?” he asked, trying to keep himself focused on the fact that this was practice for a job as the unblemished skin of Arthur’s forearms were slowly revealed.

 

“It might be needed later,” Arthur replied stiffly, saying no more as he finished rolling up the fabric to just past his elbows. “So we need to work on your biting technique to make sure you do it properly and get you used to the taste of blood.”

 

“And work on our relationship,” Eames added, only realizing how intimate that sounded after the words had already been spoken.

 

Arthur’s eyes flickered up to him quickly before looking down at the carpet again, clearing his throat. “Forge your fangs and we’ll get started. The main locations on the body used for this is the wrist, the neck, and the inner thigh,” Arthur recited as Eames focused on forging his fangs. He had already read all of this information in his folder, but he really hadn’t been lying when he told Arthur he preferred having the Point Man tell him information. “Sometimes people do the chest and the upper back as well, but that’s done more when using a knife.”

 

“Why aren’t we using a knife?” he heard himself asking, his voice a little slurred as the intrusion of the fangs gave him a slight lisp.

 

To his surprise, Arthur smirked slightly at the sound of his distorted voice. “You’ll need to work on speaking with them in your time off,” he mentioned lightly. “And we’re not using a knife because our mark likes the traditional act of biting. That also means that we won’t be using the disinfectant wipes on skin beforehand even though we would if this was reality; we don’t want to ruin the illusion and we have the liberty of making that choice while in the dream.”

 

Eames nodded, feeling nervous anticipation bubbling up in his stomach. “Alright, so what are we going to do first?” he asked cautiously, trying to hide his conflicting excitement and fear as he continued to eye Arthur’s pale skin.

 

“Wrist first as it is most common.” As Arthur said this, he held out his left wrist to Eames as if it were an offering. “We’ll do the neck next to make sure you don’t kill me in front of our mark. After that we can work on other locations, or I can at least show you the locations to bite in case we need to go further into the dynamic to distract the mark. Now,” Arthur trailed off for a moment, restlessly playing with his shirt and shoving the sleeve up slightly higher. “Do you remember where to bite?”

 

The Forger ran his tongue over his teeth as he eyed Arthur’s forearm. “Show me again,” he requested anxiously. He knew this was going to hurt no matter how he did it, but he didn’t want to hurt Arthur unnecessarily.

 

He was expecting an exasperated response, but Arthur seemed to understand his hesitation – or at least he didn’t seem frustrated with it. “Technically you can bite anywhere along this main vein,” Arthur explained as he traced a finger up his arm, showing off the prominent blue vein he could barely seen in the lighting. “Or you can bite up here on the actual wrist. You need to make sure you bite between the tendons though as best you can. I’ll bleed no matter where you bite but if you severe a tendon it can cause serious damage.”

 

His stomach dropped in fear at that thought. “How will I tell where the tendons are if it’s dark?” he questioned, hesitantly grasping Arthur’s arm when he noticed it quivering slightly from being held aloft. He wound one hand around the dream worker’s elbow while the fingers of his other hand curled around the man’s palm and fingers, Eames’s palm cushioning the back of Arthur’s left hand. That left the Point Man’s wrist right below his face and Eames couldn’t help but stare, trying to see every vein in fear of missing one.

 

“If you make a mistake, it’s alright,” Arthur’s voice almost sounded like a caress as he tried to ease Eames’s fears. “That’s why we’re doing this in a dream. But if you do need to tell, you can run your finger or tongue over the wrist. You’ll be able to feel all the prominent tendons to avoid.”

 

He wasn’t sure what possessed him to do it. Possibly he realized that, if he was doing this in front of a mark and putting on a show, him running his tongue along Arthur’s skin would be a much more effective visual than using his finger. But that didn’t explain the way his stomach jumped when he lifted Arthur’s hand to his face and carefully ran his tongue along the small plane of the dream worker’s wrist. Just as Arthur had said, he could feel the dips and rises of the tendons beneath the skin; what shocked him was how, when he held still, he could feel the man’s fluttering heartbeat on his tongue.

 

Arthur was watching him when he finally pulled away, both of them blushing slightly at the contact. It had been unnecessary but not entirely out of place with what they were preparing to do. He was relieved that Arthur didn’t comment on the action and simply continued watching him, looking contemplative but less uncomfortable than he had in reality. “So I uh...just between those tendons,” Eames recited pointlessly as he brushed a finger over now-moist skin.

 

“Yeah,” Arthur agreed, still allowing Eames to hold his arm aloft. “Anytime,” he added impatiently, though there wasn’t any bite in the tone.

 

Eames felt out the main tendons again before lifting Arthur’s wrist to his face slowly. Pulling his lips back slightly, he positioned his two elongated teeth precisely. Then, with a quick look at Arthur for confirmation, he allowed his lips to encircle the rest of the man’s wrist, slotting his mouth into a stable position. He paused for a brief moment, considering the oddness of their position, and then bit down slowly but steadily.

 

The next moment Arthur was cursing, smacking Eames on the side of the head, and yanking his arm away harshly. “What the hell, Eames? Are you biting me with human teeth or something?”

 

Eames was holding the side of his head that had been assaulted as he turned a glare to the other man. “Bloody hell, what was that for?”

 

Arthur seemed to have already forgotten about hitting him as the Point Man moved to kneel in front of Eames on the floor. “Open your mouth.”

 

“Wha--?” was all he managed to utter before Arthur parted his lips with forceful fingers. He made another sound of protest, but the other dream worker wasn’t listening.

 

“You call these fangs?” When Arthur scoffed, his breath fanned over Eames’s face. “They’re far too blunt. That causes _this_ to happen,” Arthur held up his wrist for Eames to see the two sore-looking dents in the man’s otherwise-smooth skin. But before he could apologize for his mistake and the pain he must have caused, Arthur already had a hand back in his mouth, fingers running along his teeth. “And why are they so much larger than the rest of your teeth?”

 

Eames shuddered at the peculiar sensation of the pad of Arthur’s thumb skimming over the points of his teeth. “To suck the blood,” he answered, voice distorted when he couldn’t close his mouth fully to form his words.

 

Arthur paused, his finger still pressed up against one tooth that was distinctly aware of the intruding pressure. He could see the man’s eyebrows rising before a quiet, half-strangled chuckle escaped those thin lips. “You’re joking...right?” Eames glanced away, feeling embarrassed but not entirely sure what he had done wrong. “Eames,” Arthur sighed, momentarily removing his fingers from the Forger’s mouth. “Have you never seen a vampire movie before?”

 

“Not many,” he shrugged, keeping himself nonchalant. “But the term ‘sucking your blood’ seems pretty self explanatory.”

 

Arthur looked like he wanted to start laughing again, but restrained himself. “You don’t suck the blood up through the teeth. The fangs are just to make puncture holes to start the bleeding. After that you must cover your mouth over the wound and suck _that_.” Eames could feel his cheeks burning with heat, but Arthur didn’t give him time to be embarrassed – returning to a slightly-amused professionalism. His jaw was pulled open again and a thumb pressed against the tip of each of his canine teeth. “First return them to their normal size and then sharpen them.”

 

The Forger closed his eyes and did his best to focus on his task, rather than the oddness of Arthur’s fingers in his mouth and the heat radiating off the other man with their proximity. It was easier to return all of his teeth to normal before beginning to lengthen his canines and sharpening them again, maintaining the ‘proper’ size. Arthur continued to egg him on, voice a whispering breath against his skin as he told Eames ‘sharper, sharper, sharper’. Finally, Eames pulled back slightly. “How much sharper can I make these? It’ll cut my tongue if I’m not careful.”

 

“Then be careful,” Arthur gripped his jaw for a moment, meeting his gaze steadily. There was a twitching curve of the man’s lips and Eames realized it was the closest he had ever come to seeing Arthur smile. “Besides, it’ll be good incentive for you to watch your tongue.” Eames scoffed and smirked in surprise at the teasing tone. “But you need to have the teeth as sharp as a scalpel. I want you to cleanly cut my skin, not tear it.”

 

Eames nodded and this time opened his mouth before it got pried open. Only one of Arthur’s thumbs returned this time and the Forger focused on what the biting edge of a sharp blade felt like. A second later, he opened his eyes when he heard Arthur hiss and remove his thumb. He could see a smear of blood swelling up across the pad of the man’s thumb and trickle down towards his palm. “Good,” Arthur praised before slipping his thumb into his mouth to remove the blood momentarily. “Now for the wrist.”

 

Arthur was immediately gone from his vision, returning to his former position against the couch by Eames’s side. Eames himself was frozen. He was not a stranger to wounds and blood; he had seen and experienced enough in his time before and during his profession in dream work. He had also seen Arthur bleeding before, the vision certainly not pleasant, but something he had grown accustomed to dealing with. But the realization had suddenly hit him that he was about to have that blood on his tongue, and he didn’t know what to expect.

 

That pale arm, slightly bruised now with Eames’s previous mistake, was presented to him again. Eames held it as he had before and returned his lengthened teeth to his previously-made indentations. He paused, waiting for a last minute change of mind on Arthur’s part, and then sealed his lips on warm skin. With no protest, he bit down solidly.

 

He had to force himself not to jerk away when he heard Arthur hiss in pain beside him. He knew he had already ruined the Point Man’s skin, could feel the warm rush of liquid in his mouth as proof, but didn’t want to cause further damage by moving away too quickly. Instead, he slowly pulled his teeth out as carefully as he had bit down, though he must have gotten the angle wrong when Arthur hissed again.

 

The muscles and tendons flexed and rose to prominence under that luminescent skin as blood pooled and trailed over the edge to the floor. Eames turned his gaze from the sight to watch Arthur worriedly, aware of the pinched muscles of the Point Man’s face. “Arthur...?”

 

“I’m fine,” Arthur breathed, voice slightly strained but sounding sincere enough. “Taste it.”

 

Eames was halfway to biting his lip when he felt the warning pinch as the edge of his tooth pressed against his lip. He stopped himself and did his best to manoeuvre his dangerous fangs behind his lips before pulling Arthur’s tensed arm up again. The other man’s words had sent a shiver down his back and he bowed his head obediently. He had torn a few veins, he could tell, but he was positive he had managed to bite between the tendons. The blood continued to flow freely, staining the fabric of his shirt below Arthur’s wrist.

 

His tongue dragged across one rivulet of blood, tentative, before sealing his lips over wet skin again. He sucked, causing a rush of blood across his tongue, and pulled away again. The blood was hot as it settled in his mouth and then trickled down the back of his throat. Eames licked his lips carefully, trying to get used to the taste of Arthur’s blood. It was metallic and coppery, similar to his own the few times Eames had split a lip. But there was something about it that had him keep licking his lips for more, making him...thirsty.

 

He knew it had to be something to do with the metallic taste, making him want just another mouthful to quench his newfound thirst. He knew he didn’t actually require the blood to live like a true vampire would, but he found himself sucking up more blood before he could really think about it. The blood was equally disgusting and addicting, something he hated to take from a living person and yet something that begged him to take more.

 

Eames fought himself on it, only pulling away again when he caught a nearly-inaudible whine slowly building in Arthur’s throat. “Sorry, love,” Eames gasped, “I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” Arthur repeated, blinking his dark eyes open to watch Eames. He didn’t look terribly pained or distressed. “How are you? How is it?”

 

Once his attention had been drawn to it, to the knowledge that he had Arthur’s blood coating his throat and lips, he began to feel nauseous. “I feel sick,” he admitted, grimacing as he used the back of one hand to wipe at his lips frantically. To his surprise, he watched Arthur’s eyes widen as his whole body flinched. The Point Man began pulling his arm away, trying to escape Eames’s grasp, though the Forger held on tightly. He felt confused and hurried, feeling as though he was about to make a huge mess of things. “It’s not a personal insult against you, darling,” he added quickly, holding Arthur still. “I just don’t like the thought of drinking something so vital to your life like a glass of wine. And...”

 

This time he did bite his lip by accident, too caught up in his own confusing thoughts. Arthur seemed to have calmed though, letting out a long breath that sounded more like a sigh after his admittance. “...And?” the other dream worker prompted.

 

“And it’s...” the words were on the tip of his tongue but he didn’t want to utter them; the thought of them made him feel even more nauseous. “It’s discomforting to think that I _like_ it.”

 

“Eames,” Arthur mumbled, catching his attention before the Forger could pull away. “You are not a bad person. It’s natural. Blood can make you thirsty, sort of like when you eat salty foods,” the Point Man assured him softly, dropping his arm to rest on both of their thighs before it cramped up.

 

Eames wanted to counter the other man, to explain that it wasn’t the same at all. He had experienced that thirst after salt many times, as well as the taste of his own blood from wounds. This wasn’t the same. Even though he felt sick at the thought of ingesting any blood and knew he certainly wouldn’t want to do this as frequently as a true vampire would, there was something about Arthur’s blood that had him eyeing the man’s punctured and bleeding skin. Eames didn’t confess any of this though, worried that Arthur wouldn’t understand.

 

“You’re still bleeding,” he muttered, partially to distract them both from the previous topic and also out of concern.

 

“Lick the wounds; the saliva and contact will slow the bleeding,” Arthur explained expertly, lifting his arm again. “It’s stayed bleeding because you sucked the blood out, rather than just let it come out naturally.”

 

“Should I avoid doing that?” Eames asked to keep himself occupied as he clasped Arthur’s arm again and began licking the two small puncture wounds.

 

Arthur didn’t respond until his tongue paused in its work, cheeks looking a little flushed when Eames glanced over at the man. “Either is fine. You’ll just need to be aware of how much blood I’m losing and take care of the wounds so that I don’t bleed out.”

 

Eames nodded and returned to his work until the blood flow had almost completely stopped. “How did you know to do that?” he questioned curiously, the last few drops of the man’s hot blood settling on the back of his tongue tantalizingly – promising to return as it faded.

 

This time when Arthur gently pulled his arm away, Eames let him. Arthur inspected his wrist thoroughly, brushing a finger over his stained skin before cradling his arm against his chest. The Forger noticed that his teammate looked distinctly uncomfortable. “It’s easy enough information to find when researching.”

 

“I doubt that,” he refuted quickly, aware enough of Arthur’s non-verbal mannerisms to have a pretty accurate guess of when the man was lying. “Are you a closet-vampire fan, pet?” he continued, smirking slightly now.

 

Arthur rolled his eyes and glared at Eames. “No.”

 

“Are you sure?” Eames pushed in a slightly sing-song voice, leaning closer. He doubted blood would actually have an effect on his body on its own. So he knew it was probably the adrenaline, excitement and anxiety associated with this practice that had him feeling exuberant.

 

“I’m not a ‘closet-vampire fan’,” Arthur exaggerated with air quotes. “I’ve just read a few books.”

 

Eames groaned good-naturedly, surprised at how pleased it made him to actually have Arthur tell him something about himself willingly. “Don’t tell me you read those Twilight books, darling.”

 

Arthur looked offended, and that had Eames laughing harder. “I’ve read the _classics_ ,” the Point Man clarified. “I just know the basics of the fan lore and learned the rest through research in preparation for this job,” Arthur continued to explain, reaching his non-injured hand into his pants pocket to pull out a silver pocket watch. “How about we break for lunch?”

 

Before Eames could ask any further questions on Arthur’s reading preferences, what he had learned from his books and research, or even comment on the suggestion, the timer ran out and the dreamscape went black.

 

#

 

Everything was the same when they went down again. The intimate lighting, the soft carpet, the warmth of Arthur’s body beside him, the odd thrill flitting through him as he sealed his lips over skin and bit down, the taste of Arthur’s blood as it stained his teeth. Part of him felt like they had never stopped, like he had just sucked dutifully at the Point Man’s wrist without pause. At the same time it felt as though he had been waiting to bite down into Arthur’s wrist again forever, impatiently pacing around in reality until finally returning the PASIV needle to his skin.

 

Eames could still barley comprehend this, what they were doing. And even as he passed a long sweep of his tongue over the torn skin comfortingly when Arthur gave a particularly pained whine, he hated how much he was enjoying it. His stomach still felt a little sick though, with the blood settling heavily. But as he kissed and licked and sucked at the other dream worker’s wrist, Eames began to realize that his enjoyment had little to do with the blood itself.

 

Instead, he loved Arthur’s silent demonstration of trust in him. Eames knew that this was for the job and nothing more, but Arthur could be much less friendly and understanding about this if he really wanted to be difficult. Arthur could have merely showed him the locations to bite, what to avoid, and allowed him to practice once or twice before calling this off until the time it was required for the job itself. But that wasn’t what the man was doing at all.

 

Even though they were in a dream and they were technically in no danger, Eames was still touched by the trust Arthur was placing in him to bite properly without causing any damage. The fact that he was remaining silent as Eames worked, allowing him freedom to bite as deeply as he wanted, take as much blood as he pleased, and tend to the wound when he chose, was shocking. The Point Man was controlling, always had been, always would be. There was nothing wrong with it; it was just who he was. But having the man trust in him enough to do this, to even get this close – especially considering their lack of closeness in reality – had the Forger’s heart racing a little quickly.

 

Beyond that, the act itself was incredibly intimate. Eames did his best not to think too deeply about this fact, but that was a difficult task when he had his lips on warm skin as his tongue roamed freely. They were still on the wrist and had not moved to anything further yet, but Eames had already been struck by the intimacy of the act. No wonder this was something generally done for sexual purposes or in a couple setting. As his body thrummed with adrenaline there was a part of him that felt as though he should soon pull away, turn and push Arthur to the carpet. He pushed the thought aside, but the mere fact that the situation brought it up was enough to have him surprised at Arthur’s willingness to allow Eames more than a quick bite for practice.

 

The fact that the other man was allowing the pain was also quite astounding. Eames had never considered the man to be a masochist, nor a submissive – he still didn’t think those labels suited Arthur – but that meant the dream worker was being extremely lenient. Neither of them was new to pain, but that didn’t mean they enjoyed it either. And judging by the pained noises and breaths Arthur occasionally allowed to escape into the quiet room, Eames was lucky to have not been shot in the head yet.

 

This thought prompted Eames to pull away and begin to lick the two small puncture wounds to slow the blood flow, figuring he had put Arthur through enough for this practice section. Much to his surprise though, Arthur’s hand was suddenly on the back of his head, fingers winding into his hair a little forcefully. The next moment, Arthur had pushed his face back down towards the man’s wrist. A small droplet of blood smeared over Eames’s cheek when he turned to look at Arthur questioningly. “Keep going,” was all the other man said, watching him with dark eyes.

 

“Arthur...” he muttered in confusion, taking in the details of the Point Man’s face and body. He could feel the man’s fingers digging in a little harshly and try to lead him again, but he resisted it. And quite quickly, like a bolt of lightning, clarity struck. Eames knew his eyes widened noticeably as he watched Arthur, and he spoke before he could think about the consequences. “You _like_ this, don’t you?”

 

Eames’s face had been pressed closely enough to Arthur’s wrist that his tooth tore some skin when Arthur snatched his arm away quickly, as though burned. He could see the cut welling with blood as Arthur crossed his arms quickly, the Point Man not even seeming to notice the injury. “I don’t know why you’d think such a thing,” Arthur retorted angrily, looking offended and defensive.

 

“Oh _come on_ , darling,” Eames huffed, turning slightly so that he didn’t have to crane his neck to watch the other man. “There is no reason for me to be doing this for so long. Not to mention the pain you must be experiencing; there’s no other reason for you to allow me to continue this.”

 

“It’s practice for the job,” Arthur hedged, leaning away from him as though searching for physical distance.

 

“Bullshit, love,” Eames shook his head, not allowing the other man to break eye contact. “This is why you didn’t want to do this job, isn’t it? You didn’t want me to know that you _liked_ this. You just shoved my face to your wrist. You were practically _begging_ for it.”

 

He regretted the words immediately. Arthur visibly stiffened and was standing before Eames could utter another syllable, shoving the Forger away when he reached to grasp Arthur’s hand and keep him from running. He watched the other man materialize a gun with growing guilt, especially when Arthur pressed the gleaming barrel of the gun against his own head. “The reason I didn’t want to do this job was because I knew you wouldn’t understand,” Arthur spat before pulling the trigger, promptly leaving the dream.

 

Eames fumbled as he materialized his own gun, heart beating frantically as he cursed loudly in the small room. He pulled the trigger without hesitation and was already looking around for Arthur when his eyes blinked open to take in the details of the bland warehouse. Cobb was the only one waiting there for him, though; Arthur and Ariadne were notably absent. “What happened down there?” the Extractor snapped, arms crossed as he towered over Eames.

 

“I--”

 

“Arthur just told me he wasn’t doing the job anymore before storming out of here like a whirlwind,” Cobb cut him off, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Now I trust you enough to be professional when you have to be, so tell me what happened.”

 

“Arthur--” he began again, feeling harried. But then he forced his mouth closed again, forcing himself to take a deep breath to focus. His accusations towards Arthur – whether they were correct or not, though Eames was quite sure he had been more accurate than the other man had been prepared for – had been uncalled for. It would be in poor form to repeat the words again, especially considering the secret Arthur seemed determined to keep hidden. “A misunderstanding,” he explained neutrally, pushing himself out of his chair quickly. “Don’t worry. I’ll clear it up.”

 

Cobb laughed humourlessly. “Good luck with that.” The Extractor, seeming to read his sincerity, calmed slightly. Now he just looked exhausted and troubled. “Ariadne followed him so I doubt you’ll see him for the rest of the day.” Eames’s stomach did a sickening little flop at the assumption in those words, but he hid his reaction. “So you might as well head home and get some more practice done. I’d recommend you give him some space and sort things out tomorrow.”

 

With few other options, Eames nodded in annoyance and began packing up his PASIV before heading back to the hotel. The walk was silent, hot and muggy, which didn’t help his mood at all as he stormed down the sidewalk. He was angry at Cobb for his presumptions of Arthur and Ariadne. He was angry at Arthur for fleeing before giving Eames a chance to amend his words. But Eames was especially angry at himself for his own callous insensitivity. Who was Eames to judge Arthur’s preferences, especially when the man had been open enough to reveal something like that in the first place? Eames wasn’t even against it – somewhat confused about the appeal, maybe, but not _against_ it. He had just been so caught off guard that he hadn’t known how to react.

 

He practically threw the dream device onto the bed when he arrived at his hotel room, slamming the door closed behind him before hooking himself up with jerky movements. He practiced the clothing, the mannerisms, the speaking around fangs again for a while, but found his frustration levels rising the longer he went without talking to Arthur. The Forger wanted to explain himself and to apologize; he feared they would never be able to return to the odd truce they had been fostering the longer the misunderstanding hung in Arthur’s mind.

 

Indulging in a particularly strong wave of angry hopelessness, Eames bit into his own wrist. He wanted to know what it felt like – maybe he had been exaggerating the hypothetical pain in his head and thus making a larger deal of Arthur allowing the practice than he should of – but the results of his experiment had him cursing an obscene streak. It had felt as though two separate razor blades had been shoved into his skin, severing everything in their path. His wrist and arm throbbed painfully as tears beaded at the corners of his eyes, and he quickly escaped the dreamscape and the pain.

 

When the dream space failed to provide him with any answers, Eames turned to the next best option: the internet. It was difficult to sift through all of the information as he attempted to find the right keywords for answers; there was such a wide range of opinions on vampires, the subculture, and these types of behaviours. He found a lot of detail on other practices Arthur had not included in his folder – with good reason considering the meanings people attached to the actions, as well as a forum of personal accounts. Unfortunately, Eames realized that each description was too subjective for him to use for understanding the Point Man.

 

Eames fell into bed and a restless sleep, frustrated from the time he fell asleep to the moment he woke up. His job was to understand an individual’s behaviours based on their thoughts, emotions and motivations, and even though Arthur wasn’t an official mark, Eames felt as though he was failing miserably. It was even worse when he arrived at the warehouse only to receive the cold shoulder – from Cobb and Ariadne because they were busy, and from Arthur because the man looked like a thundercloud in his corner.

 

The Forger attempted to approach Arthur, but the moment he got too close Arthur found some excuse to abandon his desk and slot himself by Ariadne’s side. Eames watched this pattern with growing distaste until lunch, when he decided to use a different tactic. He munched on the last bite of his sandwich moodily as he tracked Arthur’s movements from Ariadne to his desk to work and eat. Finally seeing his opening, Eames crumpled up the sandwich wrapper and stood. It was with a dark pleasure that he noticed Arthur’s eyes flicker up to track his movements warily, but Eames changed his path until he ended up by the Architect’s side.

 

He sent Arthur a pointed look before reaching an arm around Ariadne to point out some small detail of her drawing for the dream’s architecture. Eames felt a twinge of shame over his tactics to get the other man’s attention, but he had to find some way to get Arthur to talk to him and moving in on his sweetheart would probably get the promptest response. So Eames dedicated the afternoon towards sharing his thoughts on what the scene should look like for the job based on his own readings and experiences, and never left Ariadne’s side.

 

The girl looked confused by this at first but quickly became enthralled in her drawings as her imagination jolted to life. Dom sent him a warning look once or twice but otherwise kept to himself, getting everything prepared for the mark – who would hopefully be in this warehouse the day after tomorrow. Arthur seemed to be growing angrier by the hour, looking as though he was unable to focus, but never left his chair to approach them.

 

This frustrated Eames more, not because he didn’t like spending time with Ariadne – she was a bright young thing who always kept him on his toes – but because of the sheer stubbornness of the other man. Eames forced himself into the Point Man’s shoes though, trying to consider the other man as a Forger would a mark, rather than an irritably ignored man. What they had been doing down in the dream had not been something that would be discussed in polite company, and Eames had mistakenly called Arthur out on enjoying something that many people would find horrible. The man was probably embarrassed, as much as Arthur was capable of being embarrassed, and hiding this with cool stoicism.

 

So Eames forced himself to bide his time as patiently as he could manage. Finally the time came when Ariadne and Cobb excused themselves for the evening and the two remaining dream workers were left alone with nothing but silence between them. Eames had returned to his corner of the warehouse to retrieve his neglected PASIV. Arthur was upon him in seconds, tripping his feet out from under him and causing Eames to fall back against the wall. “Stay the hell away from Ariadne,” he warned, voice soft but deadly.

 

“Jealous, darling?” Eames snipped harshly, raising a knowing eyebrow.

 

Arthur looked startled for a moment, as if the thought had not actually crossed his mind before Eames mentioned it, and then his frown deepened. “She doesn’t need your lewd, obnoxious self hanging around,” Arthur warned before turning to leave.

 

Eames, unwilling to lose his chance, grabbed Arthur’s wrist and spun the man until he had Arthur pinned against the wall with his body. “Ariadne didn’t seem to mind, but that’s beside the point. This was never about her, Arthur. I just needed to break your stubbornness.”

 

“Let go of me,” Arthur whispered darkly, flushed with what was probably fury.

 

Eames just pressed closer, effectively stopping Arthur’s struggling beneath his weight. “Look darling,” he tried to adopt a softer, more neutral tone, “I may not understand what was happening down in the dream, but I _want_ to understand.”

 

Arthur continued to struggle for a minute, barely paying attention to the Forger’s words. But then Eames felt the Point Man still against him and felt the heavy weight of those dark brown eyes on him. Eames did his best to show his sincerity in his face but didn’t let go of Arthur’s wrists, worried about finding another chance to deal with this. Suddenly Arthur seemed to deflate against him, sighing heavily. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” Feeling relief wash over him, Eames nodded quickly. “Alright,” Arthur’s eyes never left his, “Then I’ll help you understand.”

 

He let Arthur go, able to read the honesty in the man’s face. “Wait, right now?” he asked in disbelief when he saw a nervous resolve take over Arthur’s face.

 

“Right now,” Arthur agreed as he crossed the short distance to the PASIV sitting innocently on the table.

 

#

 

Eames was more nervous than ever before this time when they found themselves in the small, dim room. He found himself seated on the floor against the couch, but realized Arthur was seated stiffly on the couch. The man’s position surprised him though, since it spoke of a lazy confidence if not for Arthur’s tense muscles. The Point Man had his back against the armrest with his legs up on the fabric, knees bent slightly. “Up here,” Arthur commanded him lightly, touching the couch cushion demonstratively for a moment before lacing his fingers together again in his lap. Eames, seeing something dark and powerful flash in those eyes, didn’t think of disobeying.

 

He settled on the couch awkwardly, mirroring Arthur’s position to lean against the opposite armrest and watch the other dream worker across the short distance of the couch. “So...” he began uncomfortably when their small room remained silent for a few minutes. It felt as though he wasn’t supposed to speak, but that nothing would ever be said if he wasn’t the one to break the silence.

 

Arthur, despite his clear discomfort, looked looser than Eames had ever seen him before. He wasn’t sure what had caused it, whether it had been something Eames had said to earn this glimpse of a calmer, relaxed man, or if Arthur was simply practicing the dynamic for the role. Eames didn’t dare speak again, seeing Arthur hesitate as he decided how to begin speaking. “There are four aspects to this,” Arthur spoke softly, not needing to speak louder in their hazy dreamspace. “The pain, the sensation, the power, and the trust.”

 

“That’s what you like about it?” Eames asked curiously. Arthur was not a man to give more away than was necessary, and he was desperate to not waste this rare opportunity to understand such a tempting, mysterious enigma that was the Point Man.

 

Arthur grimaced slightly, as though Eames had given the wrong answer. “In ways...” the man glanced away for a moment, watching the carpet as he thought. Eames did his best to not interrupt that thought process. “I don’t enjoy pain,” Arthur stated a minute or so later, looking up to meet Eames’s gaze strongly – to reinforce his serious tone. “It is something I have grown accustomed to, as I’m sure you have, but I do not enjoy it.”

 

“Being bitten bloody well hurts, though,” Eames grumbled in confusion, earning himself a surprised, curious look. “I uh...bit my wrist last night while practicing,” the Forger admitted, almost embarrassed in his tone, as though he had misbehaved. “I was trying to understand,” he added shyly.

 

The other dream worker hummed in understanding, nodding. “That’s because you didn’t have the other three aspects combined with the pain. As I was saying before, I do not enjoy pain. However, the small amount of pain from a bite can heighten your awareness, and therefore your senses. When _that_ is combined with the sensation, the power, the trust...” Arthur numbered each one off on a pale, deft finger, “ _then_ it can be very enjoyable.”

 

Eames knew he was blushing slightly; he could feel the heat of the flush in his cheeks and on his ears. He was finding it difficult to comprehend the fact that he was sprawled across a couch with Arthur, alone and discussing biting and sexual pleasure. He cleared his throat, hoping Arthur hadn’t noticed his momentary discomfort, and forced his mind into a professional mindset. He really _did_ want to understand. “Tell me about the rest then.”

 

“Well the sensation is simple to understand,” Arthur continued easily. It seemed that, now that Eames had somehow proven his sincerity in wanting to understand this, rather than mock Arthur, the other man finally trusted him enough to open up. Eames felt a little silly with the thought, but he felt...honoured. “The feel of lips and a tongue on your skin and sucking...well I doubt I need to explain that appeal further.”

 

Eames choked down a ‘ _Please do go further_ ’ and bit his bottom lip, trying to keep himself in check as he felt his whole body flush with the mere thought. There was a noticeable curl of those normally frowning lips, and Eames suddenly had his mind overrun with thoughts of what Arthur’s lips and tongue might feel like on his skin...Would the pain of being bitten really be so unappealing when that hot, wet, sarcastic mouth was sucking and licking the wound? “And the rest?” he barely managed to struggle the words through his dry mouth as he forcefully locked those inappropriate thoughts away.

 

Arthur’s smirk faltered, and the man drew his legs a little closer to his own body. Eames had never considered to link the word ‘vulnerable’ to the Point Man, but he realized that this was probably the closest he would ever come to seeing it... Except, he realized with shock, for the times Arthur bared his skin for Eames to do what he pleased. “This is a power relationship, Eames,” Arthur declared. “Even though I still have the power of choice to be here, the donor willingly gives up power to the vampire. You can equate it to a dominance/submission sexual relationship, if that helps clarify things.”

 

“So you’re submissive?” The words were out of Eames’s mouth before he could really think about it. He winced, regretting his curiosity. Arthur may be opening up enough to answer some of Eames’s questions, but there was still a boundary of privacy he should be respecting.

 

He knew it had been the wrong thing to say when Arthur’s eyes sharpened and narrowed. “I am _not_ submissive.”

 

The chill that ran up Eames’s spine then, the dominating tone of Arthur’s voice, had Eames wanting to agree with him. However... “You seemed to enjoy being bitten though...and you just said that was the submissive role beyond the control of choice.”

 

“I am practicing the dynamic for the job, nothing more,” Arthur seemed to growl, pulling his feet further from Eames’s own until his legs were crossed. “I have always played the dominant role,” the other man added, and then flushed slightly when he realized what he had just admitted.

 

“So you weren’t actually enjoying yourself when I was biting you, pet?” Eames asked, voice a little melancholy. He wasn’t sure why the thought of Arthur faking his pleasure saddened him; at most it should hurt his pride. But there was something about Arthur responding to him in a pleasurable way – stoic, aloof, indifferent Arthur – that had his body tingling.

 

“Well...” Arthur trailed off for a moment, and Eames felt his heart begin beating a little faster. “The pain and sensation aspects I told you about were from the donor perspective, so I guess it wasn’t _terrible_ ,” Arthur muttered quietly. “But you have to enjoy the sensation of being out of control when you’re in the submissive role, and that is certainly not something I enjoy. In the dominant role you have so much power and control. The other person just gives themselves to you fully, trusting you to give them pleasure as you take your own.”

 

Arthur’s eyes were a little glazed, as though lost in a memory. Eames licked his lips during the other man’s momentary distraction, trying to block Arthur’s rough voice from his thoughts when speaking about such things. “That’s where the trust comes in, then?” He was pretty sure he knew the answer already, but he was hesitant to make any more assumptions.

 

“Yes,” Arthur’s eyes met his again, and they seemed to...soften. Just a bit. “You cannot enjoy the pain and the sensation and the intricacies of the power dynamic if you are not comfortable with your partner. If you do not _trust_ them, then there is no pleasure.”

 

“Is that why you didn’t want to do this job with me?” Eames offered the thought weakly, opening himself up to his own vulnerabilities. He had to admit that it felt safer to be speaking of such things, opening himself up to hurt and disappointment, in this small intimate space they had come to call their own.

 

To his surprise, Arthur was shaking his head. “No...” the man paused for a moment, eyebrows furrowed in thought as he considered Eames. The Forger felt as though Arthur was trying to read him – trying to pry his secrets from his soul through his eyes. He wondered if this was what his marks felt like; what Arthur felt like. “I never said I didn’t trust you, Eames,” Arthur finally argued softly.

 

Eames wasn’t positive, but he thought his heart might have stopped – just for a moment. He had always thought he was a nuisance to the Point Man and nothing more. True, the man had not exactly jumped into his arms and called them best friends, but Arthur had refuted his assumption that there was no trust between them. And that thought meant more to Eames than he was expecting it to. “Then why...?” he whispered, trying to stay focused.

 

“Well besides my worry that you would react negatively and not understand, and the power dynamic issue,” Arthur sighed, raising a hand up to thread fingers through his hair before reconsidering and dropping his hand again. “This isn’t something you share with just _anyone_ ,” the Point Man grimaced again, watching Eames for a reaction. “I suppose some do, but I have no interest in it. This is something you’re supposed to share in a relationship... That’s when the trust really means something.”

 

Arthur was watching him. Eames knew this; he could feel the weight of those dark brown eyes on him, waiting for a reaction. He was, in all senses of the word, speechless. There were so many thoughts running through his head that he wasn’t sure what to pay attention to first. Nor did he know why Arthur was telling him this, and what the man was expecting from him in return. It almost sounded like it had to mean _something_ that Arthur _was_ sharing this with him, though he adamantly reminded himself that this was a job, and that no one was as professional as Arthur. It would be foolish to think this was for any other reason.

 

But then a new realization came to him, and although he was worried about taking advantage of this moment and prying too deeply, he felt required to ask. “You don’t just know this from reading books, do you, darling?”

 

Arthur’s eyes closed tightly. It looked like the other dream worker was trying to block his voice, his question, from his awareness. And then Arthur blinked open those sharp, intelligent eyes again and levelled him with a very serious stare. “I was in a relationship with someone shortly after I graduated university. I had been reading about this subculture for about a year and had been going to a few clubs to watch. But I had always been too careful of my health to try something so risky with a stranger.”

 

The other man paused and watched Eames again for a long moment. Judging his calm expression as he listened. “Things grew serious though, and I decided to tell my partner about my curiosity. He...” Arthur licked his lips and glanced at Eames nervously. But what was Eames going to say? He was certainly not going to comment negatively on a homosexual preference. Nor was he going to mention Ariadne; a man could enjoy both sexes...right? “Well,” Arthur shrugged, looking somewhat relieved at Eames’s lack of negative response, “He loved it, to put it mildly.”

 

“What happened?” Eames questioned softly. There was something in his teammate’s tone that spoke of sleepless, guilt-ridden nights and regret.

 

“He died,” Arthur explained simply. “I was reckless and foolish. I got too eager, too caught up in it. He wanted me to bite him on the neck. I did the research and tried to get his external carotid artery.” Arthur paused in his explanation for a moment to point at his own neck as a demonstration. Eames dutifully noted the movement of Arthur’s finger as it traced up that pale skin to point at the location often used for taking a pulse. “It worked the first time, but then I wanted to do it again. The pain surprised him and he moved suddenly – a natural instinct – and I caught his jugular.” Arthur’s finger trailed down and over slightly. Eames watched it move. “He bled out in minutes.”

 

“But then he woke up...” Eames frowned in confusion. Why did Arthur suddenly appear so weighed down?

 

“It was reality, Eames,” Arthur confessed, eyes closed as he spoke the words. “He didn’t wake up.”

 

“I’m sorry, darling...” he murmured, genuine in his apology. Although he was in no way responsible for the death of Arthur’s partner, that didn’t stop the twinge of pain in his heart as he watched Arthur – his eyes still closed. As much as he enjoyed teasing the Point Man, he couldn’t bear to see the man suffer.

 

“Don’t be,” Arthur’s eyes finally fluttered open again, looking more aware and less dark. The weight that had momentarily filled the air between them had evaporated. “You were not involved, and you didn’t know when asking me to explain things. Do you understand now, though?” he was asked, almost curiously.

 

Eames was surprised by Arthur’s emotional shift, but realized that this had happened almost a decade ago now. He was sure the memory still haunted the man occasionally, but Arthur was strong. He was not the type of man to be dragged down, especially after so long. Eames nodded strongly. “I understand. And I appreciate you telling me all this, love,” he spoke sincerely, hoping Arthur would accept it as truth.

 

His team member seemed to, because he nodded and gave the tiniest hint of a smile. “Would you do me a favour then, Eames? In return?”

 

“Anything,” Eames breathed, internally shocked by the truth behind his words.

 

“Could you bite me? The pleasure is...comforting in a distracting way,” Arthur tried to explain, looking away uncomfortably, as though he thought he was admitting a weakness.

 

Eames was startled into silence for a moment, both at Arthur’s request and at his body’s own reaction. Before he had really thought about it, his body had forged his fangs. He could feel them against his tongue as he tried to moisten his suddenly-dry mouth. The only way he could describe his reaction was _eager_. And the thought that Arthur, to some extent, wanted this from Eames – not a stranger after all – only heightened his willingness. “Of course, pet,” he murmured suggestively, trying to hide his deeper reaction.

 

Arthur didn’t move as he rolled up a sleeve and then held his bare arm aloft, an offering. Eames could see that dominance tinting the man’s actions, drawing Eames in rather than having Arthur come to him. The Forger did not feel particularly bothered by this as he shuffled across the couch and grasped Arthur’s offered arm with his two hands. He allowed his eyes to roam over the other man, who was practically lounging on the couch now, comfortable as he watched Eames. This time there was something new in the atmosphere, some sexual tension as well as a more relaxed sense of trust, but Eames didn’t bother commenting on this.

 

He licked a stripe from the heel of Arthur’s palm up to the crease of his elbow, uncaring of his body folding forward to reach with no back support. He kissed that joint of Arthur’s inner arm in promise, wondering if he might be presented an opportunity to work there later, and then moved his mouth back down to that pale wrist. Arthur was watching him, somehow managing to be tense in anticipation even as he settled lazily on the couch. Eames purposefully looked up to meet that dark gaze, flashing Arthur a quick grin before biting down.

 

The rush of blood into his mouth still had his thoughts momentarily panicking, but he pushed this reaction away more easily now as he slid his fangs out carefully and began to suck. In some ways the thought of ingesting blood still had his stomach churning, but his body had somewhat grown accustomed to it. It helped that the taste always had Eames feeling thirsty, willing to take more down his throat. Even though he doubted he would want to do this often outside of the job – and _never_ in reality – Eames was confident he could pull off enjoyment for the mark’s viewing pleasure.

 

There was enough for him to enjoy that he didn’t exactly have to fake it. He just had to push the blood from his thoughts and focus on the way Arthur’s body tensed and relaxed beneath him. The small, half choked off sounds that were escaping Arthur’s lips had Eames sucking harder, licking more fiercely.

 

He was surprised when he felt Arthur’s arm pulling back slightly, but it felt more like he was being led than the other dream worker trying to detach him. So Eames dutifully followed, lips sealed over coppery skin. He ended up resting a hand on Arthur’s knee for balance as he leaned forward, his other hand still holding Arthur’s arm like a lifeline. And then he felt fingers brushing at the hair that had fallen across his forehead. And then...lips.

 

Eames blinked his eyes open hurriedly, but didn’t pull away. Above him, Arthur was kissing his forehead tentatively, eyes closed. Eames, not knowing what else to do, allowed his eyes to slide closed again and continued to work diligently on his teammate’s wrist. He wasn’t sure if Arthur was working through some past memories, or if this was something else... But before he could consider it further, he felt the dreamscape begin to fade around him.

 

A moment later he was waking up in his favourite lawn chair in the warehouse. They had forgotten to set a reminder for the end of the timer. Eames glanced over to Arthur quickly, who looked sleepy as he sat silently in his own chair. The man didn’t look like he was planning to move, or speak, so Eames busied himself with carefully removing his needle and cleaning it. When he took a hesitant step towards Arthur, the other man removed his needle precisely and handed it to him, still looking slightly vacant. Not wanting to interrupt, Eames took the needle and cleaned it before packing away the PASIV.

 

When he turned away, finished with his distracting task, Arthur was watching him. “Arthur...” Eames started nervously, wondering what he was supposed to say in this situation. He didn’t want to pry further, and he was certainly not thinking of complaining about the affectionate contact, but he was still feeling dizzy with his confusion.

 

“I’m really tired, Eames,” Arthur admitted – a rare occurrence in itself.

 

It was a weak excuse, but Eames was confused enough about his own thoughts on what had happened down in the dream that he was willing to let it slide. “Alright, let’s head back to the hotel then, darling,” he offered, trying not to sound suggestive. Arthur nodded his agreement though, and didn’t comment when Eames waited for him to pack up his belongings for the evening. Eames was surprised when Arthur walked by his side back to the hotel they were both staying at, but felt an insistent smile tugging at the corners of his lips every time he focused on that fact.

 

#

 

“I think you’re skilled enough with the wrist now; we should try a different location for biting since this is our last day to practice before we bring in the mark,” Arthur explained.

 

Eames was seated on the couch and Arthur was standing in front of him, looking exactly as he had when he arrived in the warehouse that morning except for the missing suit jacket and shoes. “Are you sure?” Eames asked cautiously, nervous when he remembered Arthur’s story about killing his partner the night before. He didn’t want the same thing to happen today.

 

“We don’t have the time to wait,” Arthur reminded him, stepping closer but not sitting down on the cushions beside Eames. “You’ll do fine.” There was a note of underlying trust there, one that Eames was still growing accustomed to, even as it made him shiver pleasantly. “Now, how do you want me?”

 

“What do you mean?” Eames questioned, feeling his breath beginning to speed up slightly. Why did those words sound so suggestive? Why did it make him even more excited that it was Arthur asking him that, rather than someone else?

 

“Well we’re not going to do this standing up, are we?” the Point Man didn’t smile, but there was something in the way those eyes danced that made Eames sure he was being teased.

 

Eames closed his eyes, trying to regain his focus. Had Arthur noticed the rush of heat to Eames’s cheeks? He hoped the room’s lighting was dim enough that it wasn’t noticeable. What right did the man have to speak like that? Or was he really just making a bigger deal out of this than he should? Ever since the soft brush of lips against his forehead the night before, Eames had become hyperaware of Arthur’s presence, the way his body shifted, and his own internal whirlwind of thoughts. “Ariadne said I was probably going to be on a chair raised on a stage...” he offered weakly. _Stay professional_ , he pleaded his own body.

 

“She showed you the designs.” The words were not a question. “Create it.”

 

He had to close his eyes again, partially to focus on shifting the architecture since it wasn’t one of his strengths, and to momentarily block out the delicious roll of words off that sharp tongue. It took a moment for him to complete the change, but Arthur didn’t comment. When Eames opened his eyes again, he was seated in a large armchair he could sink back into. There was enough room on each side of his thighs that he could slide over for Arthur to sit beside him, though it would be a little tight fitting.

 

Arthur seemed to have something else in mind though, kneeling on either side of Eames’s thighs for a moment – straddling him – before wrapping an arm around his shoulders and shifting himself sideways. His teammate’s ass slotted into his lap like it was meant to be there; a thought Eames avidly suppressed along with the quick rush of heat through his body, making him aware of Arthur’s weight and warmth. The man’s legs hooked over one armrest and Eames automatically wrapped one arm around Arthur’s shoulders to help support his upper body – only Arthur’s lower back was against the opposite armrest.

 

“Is this comfortable for you?” Arthur asked softly, his arm still around Eames’s shoulders and completely surrounding him with heat and tensed, powerful muscles.

 

“Darling...” he began, not entirely sure how he was planning on finishing that sentence. He wanted to let out a playful quip to show that he was unfazed by the close proximity, that he was an indifferent flirt no matter what. He also wanted to easily brush this off with a simple ‘yes, this will work for the job’ to prove that all of his thoughts were job-related. More than anything though, Eames wanted to ask Arthur what was going on, what this all meant... Or maybe just kiss Arthur’s breath away until it didn’t matter either way.

 

“Good,” Arthur nodded, looking satisfied. “This is comfortable for me as well, and this will show the proper levels of intimacy and closeness while also making the wrist, inner elbow, and neck easy to reach.”

 

 _It’s all for show_. Eames didn’t want to know why that thought made it hard to swallow. “Right.”

 

“Alright, so remember to bite the external carotid artery and not the jugular,” Arthur continued to lecture him, as though the Point Man wasn’t sprawled comfortably across Eames’s lap like he belonged there. “I’d say you can bite anywhere _but_ the jugular...but there are so many important veins and muscles in the neck that we should probably just prepare one specific location on each side of the neck.”

 

“Can you show me where they are again?” he requested nervously, terrified of causing damage. It didn’t matter that it was a dream. “Just to be safe, pet,” he added when Arthur blinked up at him blankly.

 

He had been expecting Arthur to point them out on his own skin in the same way he had done the night before. Instead, Eames found his right hand – the one not helping support Arthur’s back – captured by Arthur’s left one and led up to the Point Man’s pale neck. He could see Arthur swallowing thickly right before their combined hands touched incredibly warm, pulsing skin. “This is the external...” Arthur murmured as he dragged Eames’s fingers up along that skin, pausing there for a moment and pressing their fingers a little harder. “And this is the jugular...” he led Eames’s hand down, whispering like he was entrusting Eames with a secret.

 

Arthur’s hand held him there for a moment, and then fell away. Eames didn’t move his hand away right away. His four fingers were holding the far side of Arthur’s neck delicately, treating the man in his lap like he was made of glass. His thumb caressed the front of Arthur’s throat, down his trachea – another place he could never bite - as he felt his teammate swallow hurriedly. “You’re sure?” he asked hesitantly, finally tracing his fingers around to confirm his target.

 

The Point Man looked up at him and held his gaze for a long time. Then he leaned more of his weight back on Eames’s arm and nodded, “I’m sure.”

 

Eames removed his hand briefly, winding it around Arthur’s front to cup the far side of Arthur’s head. His fingers dug into soft hair, hooked behind the ear and over that strong, tense jaw as he tilted the man’s head back. He knew Arthur was able to handle himself in a fight, lithe but deceptively strong and brilliantly fast. However, all Eames could think as he pulled Arthur closer to him was how light the man felt curled up in his arms.

 

He positioned his lengthened teeth against the right location for a moment, giving Arthur a moment to correct him if he was wrong. There was no protesting though, so he steeled himself, took a breath, and began to bite down. Before he could realize what had happened, Arthur had jerked in his arms at the pain, and there was a sad sort of sob that filled the air. Eames pulled away as though he had been shocked with electricity, but the damage had already been done. He could see the two cuts across Arthur’s neck briefly before it was covered in a rush of blood that spilled onto Arthur and Eames’s shirts.

 

“Shit!” he cursed loudly, teeth already gone. “Shit, darling! I’m so sorry. Here I’ll--”

 

“Don’t!” Arthur snapped harshly, digging his nails into Eames’s shoulder when the Forger began to create a gun to wake Arthur up. The other man was pulling him closer for a moment and then the arm around Eames’s shoulders went limp, Arthur already losing too much blood.

 

“But--!”

 

“I...want to know...what it was like...” Arthur whispered, eyes looking a little glazed as he fell back against the armrest and Eames’s arm.

 

Eames was nearly hyperventilating, watching blood pour from the Point Man’s body at an alarming pace from his torn jugular. He dropped the materialized gun to the floor, but only to wrap both arms around Arthur to support him and hold him closer to Eames’s chest, uncaring of the mess as Arthur bled out in his arms. It was sickening to feel the hot blood trickling onto his arms and chest, and before he could really control himself, he was sobbing. “I’m so sorry, love.” How could he be so stupid, so careless?

 

Arthur’s eyes were already drifting closed, and the hum Arthur gave him as a reply was weak and fading fast. Eames realized that Arthur wanted to know what his partner had felt like when Arthur had made this same mistake in reality, but Eames could barely survive this. Even though he knew this was a dream, his heart was beating against his ribcage like it wanted to escape – like it couldn’t bear to see this tragedy for another second longer. He raised one hand briefly to brush his knuckles across Arthur’s cheek, accidentally smearing it with blood. Arthur’s lips quirked slightly but there was no other response to the caress.

 

It only took a few short minutes before he felt Arthur’s consciousness leave his body, the man going completely limp in his arms. “Arthur...” he whispered in horror, dizzy with undeniable heartbreak as he hugged the now-dead body close. He knew he could grab his gun again and be back in reality in seconds; seconds away from seeing Arthur alive and well. But he realized that he wasn’t ready to return to reality yet, to abandon this body. The blood had finally stopped flowing once Arthur’s heart had stopped beating, and Eames felt nauseous and cold as his mind swarmed with thoughts and emotions he could barely categorize.

 

He was so angry at himself for making this mistake. How would Arthur handle this – dying in the same way he had accidentally killed his partner all those years ago? Sure, the man had seemed accepting and curious down here in Eames’s arms, but it might be a different story up in reality. He wasn’t so much scared of Arthur’s wrath though. Instead, Eames was terrified of trusting himself with Arthur again – allowing himself to get close enough for the job. What if he hurt Arthur again?

 

He was also afraid. Afraid of the image and experience of Arthur dying in his arms. They had both died in the dreamscape before, even in front of one another once or twice during a messy job. But Eames had never been responsible for that death, nor had Arthur allowed him to cradle the man close during his last minutes. Eames was terrified of what he would do when this would someday be his reality. They were in a dangerous profession, and one day they would cross the wrong person, or respond just a little too slow. What would Eames do if this was reality now, if he would never hear Arthur’s voice again, or see those gorgeous chestnut eyes take in the world?

 

More than anything, Eames was heartbroken. He was still choking back sobs, barely breathing as his throat closed. It hurt to swallow. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to think, to continue on. A few of his tears had begun to wash the blood on Arthur’s face and neck away as he held the limp body in his arms. He wanted to feel movement again – Arthur kicking his ass with a beautiful elegance for getting too close, for killing him. He wanted to hear that steady, assured voice telling him everything was alright. He wanted to see Arthur smile – forgiving him.

 

Eames hated himself in this moment. He hated what he had done, and he hated his response. It scared him. It angered him. It confused him and made him feel hopeless. He thought he had buried these thoughts away after Inception, giving up on his feelings for Arthur and happily moving on. Now they were swarming his thoughts and senses like a plague, like a virus – stronger, and more determined than the first time around. This wasn’t fair. He couldn’t feel like this for Arthur – for his Point Man. Not now.

 

Arthur liked Ariadne; it was only a matter of time until they paired off and left Eames behind. And it was even worse considering the job they had tomorrow. How was he going to handle such an intimate, sexual act and dynamic with Arthur without the other man realizing the feelings Eames himself thought he had disposed of? How was Eames possibly going to survive the repeated heartbreak once the job was over and Arthur walked out of his life with a professional nod and farewell?

 

It wasn’t fair.

 

Eames didn’t leave the dream by choice. He remained in his chair, holding Arthur close until the timer ran out. He knew it must look odd to the rest of the team in reality, depending on what the Point Man told the others – though what would Arthur be thinking? – but Eames didn’t care. His thoughts were still dizzying when he blinked his eyes open and pulled the needle out with trembling fingers. His body felt as though it were still in mourning. Even though his eyes wouldn’t be red and puffy, Eames still worried that it would be obvious he had been crying.

 

When he finally glanced around the warehouse, it was just in time to see Arthur shooing a worried-looking Ariadne and Cobb away from his desk. “He’ll be fine. He’s just doing some independent practice,” the Point Man explained with a little exasperation as the other two dream workers glanced over at Eames.

 

“Eames—!” Ariadne paused mid-step when she saw he was awake, redirecting her path to walk towards him.

 

Eames wasn’t ready to deal with the other two though, feeling guilty as he gave a small, tight smile and strode across the warehouse towards Arthur’s desk. He could hear the questions behind him before Dom ushered the Architect away, but it was a distant, muffled fact being logged in the back of his mind. He only had eyes for Arthur, who looked up from his desk in surprise at the sound. “Eames...”

 

Before his teammate could say another word, Eames cupped the man’s face with both hands. Breathing hard, limbs still jittery and mind still painfully, irreversibly sharp, Eames tilted Arthur’s head to the side to look at that soft, unblemished neck. “You’re alright,” he whispered in relief as his whole body seemed to collapse on itself. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against Arthur’s own while one of his hands trailed down to begin caressing Arthur’s wound-free skin to remind himself that the jugular was no longer ruined. “You’re alright?” he asked when Arthur didn’t respond.

 

His eyes were closed, uncaring of what sort of sight he was presenting to everyone else in the warehouse, so he jolted slightly when Arthur’s voice finally wrapped around him comfortingly. “I’m alright. It was a dream, Eames. Remember?”

 

“I know, I know,” he muttered thickly, feeling his throat begin to constrict again when he thought back to the dream – to his reactions even though it had only been a dream. “But I-I...” His voice broke and he bit his lip to hold back another sob. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Come for a walk with me,” Arthur requested softly. There was a hand cupping Eames’s own, and the contact caused him to pull away quickly. He was embarrassed about his moment of weakness, knowing he must be confusing the others. When he opened his eyes, Arthur was standing from his chair. Their eyes remained locked. “Come on,” the man prompted again, hooking one hand on Eames’s upper arm to steer him past the two baffled dream workers and towards the door.

 

They entered onto a busy street, the morning sunlight still a little too weak to overheat the air yet. Arthur led him down the street for a few blocks, always maintaining that small touch of contact despite the curious stares they were drawing. “Arthur...” he began dejectedly, wanting to tell Arthur that they should just turn back. The longer he went without pulling himself together – pretending everything was fine – the more he was going to make a fool of himself.

 

Arthur hushed him quickly and continued to lead him around a corner to a nearby park. They found a nearby bench under the refreshing shade of a tree, and Arthur sat him down purposefully. “What has gotten into you, Eames?” Arthur asked seriously, a flash of concern in those vibrant eyes. “It was just a dream. I’m fine, and there’s nothing to forgive.” Eames realized he had to pull himself together before this went any further, before he was forced to explain his reactions. He took a deep breath forced his face and body to relax, to appear neutral, if not calm. But before he could even fully fall into the role, Arthur’s voice shattered his determination. “I’m not talking to the Forger right now, Eames,” his voice was hard.

 

“Just...” the words had begun before he had given them permission. And once they had started, there was no stopping them as they continued to tumble from his lips in a rush. “Seeing you dead...”

 

“You’ve seen me dead before,” Arthur retorted, clearly confused. When Eames studied that face for a long moment, he realized there was more than professional concern shining back at him.

 

“But not when” _I knew I was in love with you_ “you were in my arms,” he argued weakly, trying to ignore his internal realization. He couldn’t deal with this right now, not with Arthur watching him with worried, soulful eyes.

 

He saw Arthur watch him, scrutinizing him before glancing away to watch a few people push strollers by their bench. Arthur closed his eyes and allowed his head to hang slightly, and he looked like he had just deflated. “I’m sorry, Eames.” Before Eames could ask _why_ the other man was apologizing, Arthur continued. “I moved on purpose. I wanted to know what it felt like. I... I had to put it to rest so that I could continue this with you.”

 

 _Continue this with me_? Was his first thought; wasn’t this just a job? What did Arthur’s past baggage have to do with that? They would do what they had to no matter what. And then the rest of the sentence settled in his brain, and Eames reacted in a blind rage without thinking. He landed a solid right hook on Arthur’s cheek, promptly grasping the man’s arm right after to keep him from falling off the bench. He knew he was a dichotomous mess, but he didn’t care. He was fuming even as some of his guilt slid away from his shoulders.

 

Arthur was touching a hand to his cheek tentatively, hissing slightly at the contact. Eames hadn’t used his full force, but it would be enough to cause a bit of swelling and a nice, dark bruise on that distinguished cheekbone. “I deserved that,” Arthur mumbled a moment later, dropping his hand to reveal a darkening red mark.

 

Eames’s stomach twisted in shame even as a smug sense of satisfaction welled up inside him. “Damn right you do, you selfish bastard,” he spat. Again, he could understand Arthur’s actions – or motivations at least – but he was already enough of a mess of emotions; he didn’t know how to manage this new twist.

 

“I am sorry,” Arthur offered again, eyes holding Eames’s gaze and making it impossible to look away. “Will you forgive me?”

 

Even as his body continued to roil with anger, fear, and confusion, Eames wanted to kiss that bruising skin better and apologize. “It’s fine,” he tried, though he knew even as he spoke the words that they were unconvincing.

 

“Enough forging, Eames,” Arthur sighed. “If you’re upset with me, I want to know. Trust, remember?”

 

 _I thought that was just in the dream..._ His heart was starting to flutter in his chest. “I understand why you did it,” he explained softly, trying to speak genuinely. “And I forgive you. I’m just feeling shaken.”

 

He felt odd speaking about his moment of weakness like this with Arthur. Normally he was doing everything in his power to appear calm and strong to the Point Man, not wanting to disappoint or make the man question his abilities. Eames worried now about Arthur taking this the wrong way, assuming he wasn’t capable of finishing this job. But his teammate just hooked a hand under his elbow to spur him into standing, giving a small smile that spoke volumes. _It’s okay to need support once in a while. I’m here_. “Let’s get you some food,” Arthur suggested, leading the way back towards the main road.

 

Arthur told Eames to choose the food, explaining that it would probably help him calm down a bit. Eames was still reeling at how supportive and non-judgemental Arthur was being, wondering if this was a response of guilt from his earlier actions, or if this was something else. Had what they shared in the dreamscape for such a short time really managed to develop this dynamic of trust and closeness between them so quickly? Eames had just realized – or, he supposed, _re-realized_ them after trying to suppress them for years – his feelings, so it made sense why he was suddenly more willing to be close and open with Arthur. But the Point Man was often impersonal and reserved, even with Ariadne, so where had this sudden change come from?

 

They settled down at a small booth in an Italian restaurant, Eames knowing that pasta would likely help settle his stomach. Eames watched people out of the window for a long time as they ordered and waited for their food, lost in thought. He appreciated Arthur giving him some time to himself to sort through his muddled thoughts and emotions. But then, as the food arrived to draw Eames back to the current moment, he realized the other dream worker had been watching him. They ended up studying each other silently as they began to eat, caught in some sort of staring contest neither of them had a reason to be stuck in.

 

Finally Arthur dropped his gaze, looking...shy. It was then that Eames realized how date-like this situation was. Clearing his throat quickly, twirling more pasta onto his fork, he tried to take away the sudden awkward silence. “What was it like?” he questioned hesitantly.

 

Arthur’s eyes glanced up from his plate in surprise before turning to stare out the window. Eames waited patiently while the Point Man collected his thoughts and finished chewing his mouthful. “It hurt quite a bit,” Arthur began explaining in a quiet but determined voice. “And it was terrifying. I could feel my ability to think and function draining away along with my blood. But...” he trailed off, distractedly taking a sip of water.

 

“But...?” Eames prompted, on the edge of his seat with his curiosity.

 

“But it wasn’t as scary when you held me closer,” Arthur confessed in a near-whisper. Those brown eyes didn’t look up from the shiny tabletop. “It felt a bit like falling asleep.”

 

“Darling...” he started, but fell silent. He didn’t know what to say to that.

 

The Point Man persona suddenly reappeared, Arthur slipping seamlessly behind that mask – only his bright eyes showed true emotion and depth. “Either way, I put it to rest.”

 

Eames could only sigh and give a tiny smile, not sure why that statement comforted him as much as it did. “Good.”

 

#

 

Arthur was settled in his lap again, in the exact same position they had chosen the last time they were down in the dream before Eames had accidentally torn Arthur’s jugular. There was a thick, anticipatory silence in the air as Eames slid his arm behind Arthur’s back and the other dream worker wound his arm around Eames’s shoulders. “Do you trust me, Eames?” Arthur questioned him once they were both comfortable, falling still in the comfortable armchair.

 

Eames only had to think about it for a few seconds before he was nodding. “Yes, love. I trust you.”

 

Arthur smiled up at him before resting his weight more fully against the armrest and Eames’s arm. “Then we’re ready. And for the record,” Arthur began to add when he saw Eames open his mouth to speak, “Yes, I’m sure.” The Forger’s mouth snapped closed before he chuckled, focusing on extending his teeth.

 

This time when he placed his fangs and bit down slowly, Arthur tensed in his arms but otherwise remained still. Eames could feel a rush of air escape those narrow lips in a moan, and Arthur’s fingers dug into his skin tighter to hold him close. Eames remained like that for a long moment, eyes closed as he relished in the warmth and closeness of the other’s body, and then he carefully pulled his teeth free to avoid tearing any more skin. “Alright, darling?” he asked against blood-stained skin as blood began to well up from the wound and trickle down that pale neck.

 

“Yes,” Arthur whimpered, arching his neck back to give Eames further access as he began to suck at the two bleeding puncture holes. Eames did his best to hide his body’s reactions to Arthur’s sounds and movement as he began to squirm in the Forger’s arms, pressing closer even as he leaned his neck away for access. It didn’t help that Arthur was settled in his lap, a hot weight against Eames’s stirring erection.

 

Eames groaned and pulled away for a moment to lick up the trail of blood that had just reached the starch white collar of Arthur’s shirt. Then he kissed his way back up to collect the new pool of blood, not so much desperate for the taste of blood but for the responses Arthur was giving him. He thought vaguely of how he’d be happy to do this forever, holding his teammate a little closer as he continued.

 

He wasn’t sure how long he was at it before Arthur dug his nails into Eames’s neck to get his attention and keened, even as Eames pulled his mouth away. “Lightheaded,” the man was breathing a little shallowly, eyes half-lidded as he stared up at Eames hazily.

 

“Sorry, pet,” Eames apologized, drawing his tongue over Arthur’s neck a few more times to help slow the blood flow. When he was finished he leaned against the back of the chair, feeling slightly sick with the blood in his stomach but too content to give it much thought. Arthur turned towards him slightly, resting his head on Eames’s arm as the man gave a tired sigh and allowed his eyes to slide closed.

 

The thought came to him out of nowhere. Eames was lounged back, enjoying the feel and view of Arthur curled up in his arms, when he remembered something he had read on his internet while trying to understand Arthur’s interest in this. The Point Man was a little paler than usual, especially when contrasted against Eames’s tanned skin and the black leather of the chair. It caused the bruise tarnishing that perfect skin to stand out even more, the Forger surprised Arthur hadn’t hidden it away when they came down here after lunch.

 

Feeling brave – or foolhardy – Eames pulled his right hand from Arthur’s cheek – when had he put that there? – and up to his own mouth. He steeled himself for the pain he knew was about to come, took a breath, and bit down on his own wrist until his own coppery blood filled his mouth. He must have jostled Arthur when shifting in response to the pain, because his teammate blinked his eyes open to look up at Eames curiously.

 

Without a word, knowing his lips were stained red, Eames offered his bleeding wrist. Arthur’s eyes widened in clear shock, and the man didn’t move. “Do you understand the meaning behind what you’re offering?” Arthur asked, sounding off-guard and...hopeful?

 

“I think so,” Eames glanced between Arthur and his bleeding wrist, which was throbbing painfully. Had he read the information wrong? Was there more to it? Had he gone too far, done the wrong thing?

 

“This is the most you can share with someone in a relationship like this,” Arthur’s voice was stern, chiding slightly. “Blood keeps you alive, so you’re sharing your life force. Do you understand that?”

 

Arthur almost sounded vulnerable as they watched the blood drip from Eames’s wrist down onto the Point Man’s shirt. “Yes,” Eames stated strongly, aware of the fact that the lines between business and pleasure were blurring quickly.

 

“As the dominant person, you are also declaring me an equal,” the other dream worker pressed on, still disbelieving.

 

“We have always been equals, sweetheart,” Eames chided the man in return this time. He felt nervous and exposed, offering himself up and having Arthur simply stare at his offer in return.

 

They seemed to be at a standstill, neither of them moving. And then something broke. Arthur’s left hand reached forward to clutch Eames’s wrist and pull it closer, and then those lips were on his skin. His eyes wanted to close to focus more on the sensation, but he didn’t want to deprive himself of the sight of Arthur curled up in his arms, sucking at his wrist. As a hot tongue roamed over his skin, licking up the trails of blood before Arthur sucked more fully on the puncture wounds, the pain seemed to fade into the back of his mind.

 

The pain sharpened his focus, the sensation added pleasure, the meaning behind the action had his stomach twisting excitedly, and the trust had his heart swelling. Eames finally understood.

 

“Arthur...” he moaned softly, eyes finally closing.

 

Unfortunately, Arthur must have taken this as a moan of pain and insistence to stop, because the other dream worker pulled away quickly with a small, shaky smile. “Sorry,” the Point Man apologized, sounding content and sated more than sorry. And then, before Eames could say anything – tell Arthur to _never_ stop, or something else equally inappropriate – Arthur’s brown eyes were flickering closed as the other man curled up against him. A black head of hair rested on his upper arm while Arthur drew his legs from over the armrest to hook them into the small space between Eames’s thigh and the inner armrest.

 

Eames didn’t know what to do, or how to take this shocking situation. He wanted to pull Arthur closer, kiss those blood-stained lips and tell his teammate _exactly_ where he wanted this to go. With the way Arthur was lounging against him, looking nearly asleep, it seemed like it wouldn’t be taken in a negative light. But Eames had no way of knowing why this was happening. Was this a reaction to the blood in Arthur’s system, or Eames’s offering of blood? Where did Ariadne come into all of this? “This isn’t you…” he murmured softly, brushing the backs of his fingers over Arthur’s cheek.

 

Too affectionate. Too open.

 

Arthur blinked his eyes open at the sound of Eames’s voice. “Are you sure?” he asked. A little amused, a little sad.

 

“Am I wrong?” Eames pressed, barely daring to hope.

 

“This is what happens when I share this with someone,” Arthur explained softly, sounding a little scared.

 

Eames felt his body stiffen immediately. His heart clenched as though it was caught in a vice grip, and it hurt to breathe. Of course this was just about the blood and sensation. It wasn’t _him_ and _Arthur_ ; the other man would be like this no matter who he did it with. Eames felt stung as he quickly withdrew his arms from Arthur’s form. How could he have let himself hope again – hadn’t he learned his lesson during Inception? How could he be so naïve and stupid?

 

The other man seemed to notice his sudden shift in mood, and pulled away as though burned. In a flash, Arthur was out of his lap and standing in front of him with his arms crossed, as if he were trying to protect himself from Eames. The Forger felt his confusion increase – why was Arthur acting as though he had been slapped? Eames was the one who had a right to be hurt and angry right now, not the Point Man.

 

He opened his mouth to say something. He didn’t know if it would be a question or a string of angry shouting. It didn’t really matter in the end what he was going to say though, because Arthur spoke first. “We don’t have much time left and this is our last run before the job tomorrow morning. We need to go over the rules.”

 

“Rules?” he spat the words, barely comprehending the necessity to be professional right now.

 

“Yes, _rules_ ,” Arthur shot the word back with just as much bite and force. “Did you think I would just let you do whatever the hell you felt like tomorrow? This is a _job_ , nothing more. And I will not allow you to act in any way that is not completely professional.”

 

Each word stung and dug into his heart just a little deeper. “Fine,” he hissed, eyes narrowed. “Tell me your bloody rules.” He was gripping the armrests to keep himself from standing and punching Arthur in the face – or kiss him, one or the other.

 

“Get permission,” Arthur numbered off on one finger. “If I don’t give you verbal or non-verbal permission, don’t fool yourself into believing you’re allowed to touch me. Second, do _not_ force me into using any location. I will lead you to one if we need to use something other than the wrist or neck.”

 

“Don’t kid yourself, pet,” he heard the condescending tone in his own voice on the pet name. Even as he spoke it he knew he was making a mistake – he loved calling Arthur pet names and didn’t want to ruin that in a moment of anger – but it was already too late. He was too hurt – too tired of _being hurt_. “It’s not like I _want_ to do this anyway,” he lied through his human teeth.

 

Arthur flinched as though he had been struck. Eames watched as the other man’s lips thinned to a hard line, and those eyes closed off all truth normally shared there. “Well good news, Mr. Eames,” Arthur’s voice sounded as sharp as a blade. “Only one more day to put up with me.”

 

Worry flashed through Eames at his teammate’s words. Eames didn’t mind spending time with Arthur – loved it, in fact – and would never view it as having to ‘put up with Arthur’. He was suddenly worried that messages had been misunderstood, even as another part of him told him to keep Arthur as far away as possible for the sake of his own wounded heart. But before he could say anything more, Arthur had materialized a gun and woken himself up.

 

By the time Eames managed to wake himself up, just a few seconds behind the Point Man, the warehouse was deserted for the night.


	3. Part III: The Job

**Part III. The Job**

 

Eames had been unable to sleep – again – as confusing thoughts about Arthur swirled around his mind on repeat. What they had shared over the last few days, what had been said, what had been _meant_ behind those words and how they might have been taken differently from the intended meaning. What did Arthur want from him? What did Eames want from Arthur? Was it _safe_ to want anything from Arthur, or was he just setting himself up for more pain?

 

He was also kept up worrying about the job as the dawn continued to inch closer and closer. The warehouse had been empty when he had woken up and forced himself to pack his PASIV calmly. Eames had called Arthur and had knocked on the man’s hotel room door, but had received no reply. He had briefly considered contacting Cobb or Ariadne in an attempt to con them into drawing Arthur out of hiding, but decided he didn’t want to involve them. They didn’t need to know that there was a distinct possibility that this job might go to shit.

 

The Forger also wondered how the job would end up as he blinked up at the dark plaster ceiling above him. To say he and Arthur had split on less than friendly terms would be an understatement. And whether what had been said was meant in that way, or if there were misunderstandings between the two dream workers, there would be no opportunity to clear the air before they had to go down into the dream together for work. They would be forced to forge a dynamic which – over the last few days – had become something almost commonplace between them. That thought, more than anything, saddened Eames.

 

He had to drag himself out of bed with only a few useless hours of sleep as the dawn light filtered through the hotel windows and into his eyes. Already, Cobb would be out on the streets, en route towards the mark’s apartment to collect him and set him up in the warehouse. Ariadne and Arthur would likely already be up and getting prepped, planning to meet Eames at the warehouse at the same time so the PASIV would be set up for when Dom arrived.

 

Eames dressed quickly and ate very little of his ordered breakfast before packing his PASIV and catching the first taxi cab he saw on the street. He didn’t run into his teammates en route and found both Arthur and Ariadne at the warehouse waiting for him when he arrived. He could see that everyone else, like him, had basically packed to leave immediately after the job, with everyone’s desks standing empty and unused. Since Eames couldn’t pull the Point Man aside to talk with him now, he avoided the man’s eye – though those brown eyes were avoiding him in return – and focused on setting up.

 

It was a good thing he stayed focused on the job because Cobb appeared with the mark minutes later. The mark appeared drunk on whatever injection the Extractor had given to him, Dom leading him into the warehouse with an arm over his shoulder. They couldn’t have Cobb dragging an unconscious man into a building in broad daylight so they were forced to do this until they were in private and could put the man down properly.

 

Once the mark was asleep, everyone started moving at once. The four dream workers each took their needle in hand as they chose their favourite chair. Eames tried not to show his reaction when Arthur – who normally took the chair next to him – took the farthest chair from him in the circle. He didn’t have time to think about it further though as Ariadne went under, promptly followed by Arthur. Eames went next, knowing Dom would hook up the mark to come down right after.

 

At this point he had no choice but to be professional, and he hoped Arthur would do the same. He realized he was worrying needlessly when he blinked his eyes open in the dream though, remembering that out of all the dream workers he had ever worked with, Arthur had always been the most professional despite all obstacles and circumstances.

 

Ariadne had already created the dreamscape for them when Eames was blinking his eyes open, and the Forger had to admit the young Architect was really learning quickly. They were in a small sized club with thick, dark carpeting and curtains along the walls. There were no windows and the lighting was dim in every location except for the platform Eames found himself on. He was seated in a large, black leather armchair very similar to the one he had created when practicing with Arthur, which was facing outward to view the rest of the club.

 

The entrance to the club was on his left, along with a few lounge couches with curtains half around them for patrons who wanted some privacy. Directly in line with Eames’s vision was the bar at the very back of the club, with shelves and shelves of coloured glass bottles glimmering in the dim lighting. Between the stage and bar, as well as off to the right slightly, there were tables, chairs and more couches for patrons to sit at, drink and chat. About half of these tables were already filled with the mark’s projections, many of them sipping drinks and a few of them eyeing Eames in clear interest. He could tease out a quiet, thrumming music in the background, but it was not enough to draw attention or drown out conversation. It was simply there to fill any anticipatory silences.

 

Once he had taken in the gorgeous, dark, warm décor of the club, Eames began looking around for Arthur. And as though he had merely needed to picture the man’s face in his mind, Arthur was there in front of him. “No cape,” Arthur spoke softly, leaning over him with one hand on Eames’s right sounder for balance, invading his personal space. “I’m disappointed.”

 

Eames glanced himself over quickly, noting the fitted black jeans, crisp white button up shirt, and black jacket. “Well you know,” he shrugged lightly, not to dislodge the man’s hand but to make Arthur feel his body shifting. “I didn’t want to be too predictable.”

 

For a moment, Eames was hopeful that everything had been forgiven and forgotten. He wanted that – desperately. He wanted Arthur to _want_ to be near him again, to share something like this and to be open and trusting around Eames. He took Arthur’s hand as his teammate crawled up onto the armchair with him, threading that arm behind his neck. But as Arthur settled down in his lap, legs hooked over one armrest and back against Eames’s free arm, the Forger could feel the stiff tension in the other man’s body.

 

Nothing had been forgiven or forgotten. This was strictly professional business.

 

Eames felt disheartened by this, roaming his eyes over Arthur’s form like a man indulging for the last time before death. The other man was dressed in tight black jeans that had Eames wanting to touch each inch, and had a similar white collared shirt. This one was covered by a burgundy waistcoat though, which Eames thumbed curiously. “The white shirts are to show off any blood that falls,” Arthur explained matter-of-factly.

 

“Arthur…” he began, not caring much about the job now that he had the other dream worker mostly alone to hopefully talk things over. He was hurt by the man’s prior words, but missed what they had begun to share terribly.

 

“I need you to be professional right now, Eames,” Arthur requested while busy rolling up his right sleeve. Eames was about to protest, about to forsake the entire job if Arthur insisted on ignoring this any longer. But then Arthur was offering up his wrist with his eyes focused outward at the rest of the club, and the Point Man tensed further in his arms. “There’s the mark. Bite me.”

 

And despite all the things Eames wanted to say in that moment, and despite his internal insistence that he would not focus on this job until things were sorted between him and Arthur, Eames took that wrist and bit down greedily. The first taste of hot blood over his tongue calmed him, and the feel of Arthur’s skin against his lips had Eames sucking harshly. However the sound of Arthur’s sigh at the bite as the Point Man melted into Eames’s body had the Forger groaning loudly.

 

When he blinked his eyes open a minute or so later, he felt his body boil with anger. Even though Arthur felt relaxed in his arms and sounded like he was enjoying himself, he was still stealing quick glances at the mark. Eames tracked those eyes and landed upon the mark, who looked shocked at the attention and shifted in his seat. His eyes narrowed at the mark, a possessive, predatory focus taking over his thoughts as he wrapped his arm a little tighter around Arthur and pulled him closer. _Mine_ , his actions screamed.

 

Much to his dismay, rather than looking scared, the mark looked interested and aroused.

 

His thoughts were drawn away from this when Arthur pulled his wrist away. But before Eames could question this, Arthur was leading him towards the Point Man’s inner arm where the vein normally used for drawing blood was easily visible under the stage’s spotlights. “Bite me again,” Arthur pleaded, voice a loud whisper for only the Forger and the mark – who had taken the closest table to the stage – to hear.

 

He hadn’t bitten here before, but he was hardly nervous as he followed Arthur’s lead and bit down into sensitive skin again. More blood pooled in his mouth, but this time he pulled away and licked at the wounds like a caress, rather than sucking out more blood. He didn’t want to cause Arthur to become lightheaded, or fade too quickly. When he looked down again, Arthur’s eyes were switching between being clenched closed and glancing out at the club lazily. But the man’s body was shifting against him, twisting around as he offered a quiet whine in response to Eames’s attention.

 

 _It’s fake_ , his mind kept trying to remind him, trying to cut through his adoring haze that always saw everything Arthur-related in a rose-tinted blur.

 _Is it?_ The other half of his mind wondered, barely daring to hope. He had seen Arthur lost in the moment, and he had seen the Point Man tense in a moment of professionalism. This moment was caught somewhere in-between. Arthur felt like he was at war with himself, enjoying it and knowing he _had_ to appear to enjoy it for the job, and yet trying desperately to remain distant and unaffected.

 

It was beautiful and heartbreaking and Eames didn’t know what to do.

 

Eventually Eames forced himself to pull away, allowing a few droplets of blood to trail down his cheek and onto the starched collar of his shirt. Arthur pulled his arm away tiredly to cradle it against his body, smearing more blood across his own shirt. For a few minutes Eames took some time to card his fingers through soft locks of black hair, cradling Arthur close as he glanced around the club or stared down at the sleepy-looking Point Man. It was startling to realize that he was acting his part without doing anything he didn’t want to. He wanted to look out at the club to warn everyone away from his partner, and he could never grow tired of staring at Arthur.

 

He noticed Cobb watching them from the back of the club behind the bar, swiping a cloth across polished wood distractedly. The Extractor looked shocked and confused, no doubt wondering how much of this was an act. He was probably aware of the fact that Eames, to some extent, was far beyond the point of help. But it seemed as though no one knew what to think of Arthur’s behaviour. Ariadne was watching them avidly as well as she wandered around collecting and depositing drinks glasses. She looked worried and a little exasperated, eyes focused on them more than on her false job as a waitress. As their eyes met across the club, Eames felt himself hug Arthur closer, baring his fangs. Ariadne dropped her gaze quickly – reading his message with clear precision.

 

The Forger felt Arthur shifting in his arms a short time later, forcing Eames to loosen his grasp. Without a word, he watched as his teammate unbuttoned the first three buttons of his shirt with a teasing slowness. “I want you to bite my neck, Eames,” Arthur confessed as he tilted his face towards Eames’s chest, making sure only the two of them heard the words. “And when you do, you need to hold eye contact with the mark. We will make him dizzy with lust and then you will invite him up here to join us.”

 

“Then what?” he asked, finding it hard to breathe as his eyes scanned over the pale, unmarred flesh of Arthur’s neck as it was revealed to him.

 

Arthur didn’t shrug, though Eames could feel muscles against his body twitch and shift. “It’s likely that he’ll be into it and want to join us. But if he’s not, you’ll have to send me away. You need to put him in enough of a haze to get him to talk without thinking about what he’s revealing. Or,” Arthur paused for a moment, pulling himself closer to Eames as he tilted his neck back to present Eames with his offering, “You can try to bribe it out of him.”

 

Eames wasn’t entirely impressed with the idea of having to drag someone else into this, but knew he had to complete the job. Otherwise, Arthur would be frustrated, and Eames didn’t want the man to be any angrier with him. So Eames grudgingly kept his right arm around Arthur while using his left hand to cup the Point Man’s jaw hesitantly. He noticed Arthur watching him as the Forger helped cradle his head, and then those dark eyes closed trustingly as Arthur relaxed in his arms.

 

Feeling brave and a little desperate, not knowing when he would be given another opportunity like this, Eames dragged his tongue lazily up the pulsing column of Arthur’s neck. He felt the other dream worker shiver in his arms but was pleased when Arthur didn’t pull away. He couldn’t kiss that skin – knowing it would reveal too much while in the middle of a job – but he hoped the trace of his tongue felt as much like a caress as he wanted it to be.

 

Then he finally forced himself to refocus and pressed his lips against the correct location. Arthur’s fingers gripped the fabric of his shirt a little tighter in anticipation, and then Eames bit down. He could feel his teammate’s heart racing against his lips and tongue, and he kept his fangs lodged in that hot skin for a few extra seconds. Eames heard Arthur keen softly while shifting slightly, and he relished in it.

 

After a few frozen moments like that, Eames finally remembered they were on a job and removed his teeth. Knowing he had to put on a show, he only swallowed a small portion of the blood, allowing the rest to spill over and stain both of their shirts. He wondered if he should apologize to Arthur for the waste but didn't want to ruin the moment. Instead, he lowered his lips back to the bleeding wound while raising his eyes to seek out the frozen-looking mark.

 

He was unwilling to pull away again, especially with the feel of Arthur arching into his touch, so Eames merely removed his left hand from the Point Man’s cheek. He pointed a finger at the mark lazily, who jolted in his seat and looked around in surprise. When the man did not stand up immediately, Eames allowed his eyes to narrow as he waved the man up. Then he returned to Arthur’s neck, confident that the mark would not turn down the call.

 

Sure enough, far too soon there was a nervous throat being cleared. Eames’s eyes rose first to regard the man, sizing the mark up for acceptance before finally detaching his lips from Arthur’s hot skin regretfully. The man standing in front of him – the mark – looked to be middle aged, though the years had been kind to him. His hair was nearly a white blond and it was brushed over, though not slicked back in the same way Arthur’s was. The mark’s eyes were a piercing green as they roamed greedily over the pair of dream workers.

 

Eames could tell immediately that he would have to send Arthur away. The mark, tall and thin while dressed in a slightly shabby-looking business suit, was standing by the edge of the stage. He looked eager but nervous, eyes glancing back and forth between the two of them critically. There was no way the man would feel comfortable enough to admit things to Eames when skirting around Arthur like a serious challenge. Arthur was lounging in his lap like he owned the Forger, eyes a little narrowed and not entirely friendly as they remained focused on the mark. “Why don’t you go get yourself something to drink, my darling?” Eames hummed against Arthur’s ear, smearing a bit of blood onto the shell of the man’s ear with his tongue.

 

Arthur’s eyes flashed up to him dangerously, brown eyes looking like melted chocolate in the mix of dim club lights and bright stage lights. “Eames…” the Point Man growled, eyes wide.

 

“Arthur…” Eames retorted, lips thinning as he attempted to find some internal motivation to push Arthur away when all he wanted to do was hold his teammate close. “Give us some time alone, would you pet?” he requested in a tone that didn’t speak of much freedom. He hoped the Point Man would trust his reading as a Forger to know that this would work better without any competition around. But as Arthur pulled himself out of Eames’s arms jerkily, he doubted it had been taken well.

 

Arthur looked betrayed, hurt, and abandoned as he stared the mark down for a moment before stepping down off the stage stiffly. Eames felt his heart clench painfully in his chest when he noticed Arthur cast one sorrowful glance over his shoulder back at him. He was halfway to standing before he remembered the mark, who was inching closer now that the competition had disappeared, and forced himself to turn his gaze away from the Point Man heading towards the back bar.

 

“Sorry…” the mark stopped to stand by his chair, one hand resting on the armrest loosely – curious about the boundaries. Eames noticed that the man didn’t exactly sound apologetic for Arthur leaving, but more for the Forger’s distressed look.

 

Eames took a long, deep breath, and forced himself into character. When he turned to face the mark, it was with a brilliant, knee-melting smile on his face. “Don’t worry that gorgeous head of yours,” he brushed it off, feeling his throat close in revolt when he tried to use a pet name on the other man. “What’s your name?”

 

“Michael,” the mark offered with a smile that was quickly growing in confidence.

 

He noticed Michael biting his lip, and all of the information Arthur had given him on the mark rushed back. Despite being a rather prominent man in trades who needed confidence and charisma to be successful, the man was as submissive as they came when dealing with sex and this particular kink. Arthur had recommended he play off this to get the information they needed, and although Eames was curious about how he would pull this off with someone other than Arthur, he was not about to ignore the Point Man’s advice.

 

“Tell me, Michael,” he spoke softly to force the mark to lean closer. “Have you been bad?” He saw those green eyes sharpening as those pupils expanded. Eames pressed on. “Do you need to be punished?”

 

“Oh yes…” Michael hummed, cheeks already a little flushed at the simple suggestion. The mark edged closer until he was standing between Eames’s spread legs. He was wavering back and forth, clearly wanting to take Arthur’s place but not wanting to push his luck. Eames watched as the man glanced down at him through hooded eyes, looking guilty and eager. “I have been very bad.”

 

Eames spread his legs a little more, getting comfortable in his role before taking one of Michael’s hands. But instead of pulling him closer, Eames led him down until the mark was kneeling between the Forger’s knees, eyes wide and focused on him. “Tell me what you have done, Michael.”

 

“I…I steal things,” Michael admitted quietly, watching Eames as he took the man’s arm closer to him.

 

“What have you stolen?” Eames questioned, almost absent-minded in his movements as he rolled up the jacket and shirt sleeves to reveal a forearm that was much more tanned than Arthur’s.

 

“Money,” the mark whispered, smiling weakly.

 

Eames leaned forward and nipped the man’s wrist, just enough to deliver the pain without the pleasant sensation. “Boring,” he murmured, smirking down at the other man.

 

Michael was busy watching his own blood trail down his forearm from the puncture wounds on his wrist, which Eames had not taken a single lick of. The man looked mournful at the lack of contact, despite the fact that he had groaned at the pain. “But I steal it from interesting people,” the mark offered, somewhat impatient now that Eames had withheld something promised.

 

“Do tell,” the Forger prompted, swiping his tongue through that line of blood as a reward for the new information.

 

“My clientele,” Michael was practically grinning now, noticing when Eames perked up with clear interest. Eames didn’t even need to ask another question to get the man to continue speaking. “I move a small portion of each trade into offshore bank accounts – enough to be substantial but not enough to be noticed by anyone.”

 

“You’re clever,” he praised, tracing a few fingers over distinguished cheekbones. To reinforce the sharing of information, Eames pulled Michael’s arm close again and sucked hard. Michael gasped and leaned harder against the leather of the armchair, placing his free hand on Eames’s knee to keep himself from falling over. Eames didn’t continue this for long, instead pulling away again. “You should steal from Gregory Mitchel someday,” he suggested lazily. “The bastard has caused me problems in the past. You’d want to make me happy, wouldn’t you?” he asked Michael as he dragged blood-stained fingers through that platinum blond hair.

 

“I’ve already stolen from him,” Michael proclaimed proudly, like a dog bringing in the newspaper for its master.

 

“Really…” Eames faked his surprise, having already read this information in Arthur’s perfect research. He continued to brush his fingers through that hair. “That’s wonderful to hear. Perhaps you would be willing to share your account number with me so I can see the proof,” the Forger prodded, though he doubted it would be so easy as to get that string of numbers on the first try.

 

Just as he had expected, Michael hesitated. Eames gave a disapproving look, pretending to grow bored of the conversation. “I can’t give that to you…”

“Why not?” Eames sighed, using this opportunity to cast his gaze around the club. He could see Arthur at the back, sitting at the bar. Eames had expected the other dream worker to be talking with Cobb, but the Point Man was concentrating fully on the stage – on _Eames_.

 

“It has all of my information,” Michael explained weakly, sounding sad that he was disappointing the Forger.

 

Eames remained silent for a long moment, allowing his mark to grow worried. Then an idea came to him. “Come up here,” he demanded softly. Michael’s eyes widened almost comically, staring up at Eames in surprise before standing quickly. Michael took Eames’s hand as he climbed onto the dream worker’s lap, one leg and knee on each side of Eames’s hips. The mark was taller than him, kneeling like this, until Eames led him down to sit on his thighs.

 

“What…?” Michael began curiously, hands coming to rest on Eames’s shoulders and dig in greedily.

 

“Don’t interrupt,” Eames cut the man off, chuckling when Michael fell silent. Deciding that showing was better than telling, Eames raised his own arm to his mouth and bit into his wrist, doing his best not to wince at the pain. Then he withdrew his fangs and held his dripping wrist aloft for Michael to see. “If you tell me your account number, I might feel inclined to share my blood with you.”

 

“You—I—really?” Michael breathed, letting go of Eames’s shoulders to hold his arm steady.

 

“Yeah,” Eames agreed, trying to hide his disgust at the thought of doing this with anyone other than Arthur. He closed his eyes, trying to picture Arthur in his lap instead of the mark, and waited for the inevitable feel of lips on his wrist. Suddenly he heard quick feet before Michael’s weight was being dragged off him. Eames only had a second to blink his eyes open to see the mark tumbling away towards the edge of the stage before Arthur was standing in front of him in a fury.

 

Before he could say anything, Eames was watching Arthur clamour into his lap to mirror Michael’s positioning – legs straddling Eames’s thighs and knees hooked against the Forger’s hips. He was going to say something – though he wasn’t sure what – when Arthur promptly grabbed his bleeding arm and pressed the wound to his mouth, sucking hard. “Fuck, Arthur…” was all Eames managed to get past his lips that didn’t sound like some embarrassing noise.

 

Arthur hummed loudly in return, sounding like it would have been a severe scolding if the Point Man wasn’t too busy sucking and licking like he was dying. Eames would have been quite happy staying there all day until he ran out of blood and died, but it seemed like Arthur had other plans as soon as Eames’s arm and wrist were clean. His teammate pulled away with a gasp, took three deep gulps of air, and then cupped Eames’s face between his burning palms. Arthur was scowling but didn’t say anything before suddenly lunging forward and sealing their lips together.

 

Eames’s whole body came to life with a white hot flash of heat travelling down his spine and pooling in his lower stomach and groin. His left hand rapidly found itself buried in soft black locks of hair, holding tight, and his abused right arm wound around narrow hips to pull Arthur tighter against him. The Forger didn’t know if this was real, or if it was part of the act to get the mark to talk, but he honestly didn’t care enough to stop and ask at that particular moment.

 

He groaned as he pulled the Point Man closer against his body and pressed their lips together more harshly. Arthur’s lips were moving against his at a desperate, needy pace, tongue already roaming across Eames’s lips while carefully avoiding the fangs. Eames, greedy and wanting more, opened his mouth and sucked his teammate’s tongue into his mouth. He shuddered at the sound and sensation of Arthur moaning into his mouth, and promptly began trying to pull Arthur’s shirt tails from beneath his waistband.

 

Arthur’s lips were soft and wet, adding the coppery tang of Eames’s own blood to the blend of a light scotch and something Eames couldn’t quite place. Their teeth clashed together once or twice in their eagerness, but they had to stop that quickly before they caused any further damage with Eames’s teeth. Arthur was still holding his face still, as though he was expecting Eames to do something ridiculous like protest or pull away, but the man’s lithe form was also beginning to shift against Eames rhythmically. Eames was only capable of holding Arthur closer and rolling his hips up to meet his movements in return.

 

Eames didn’t know how long the kiss continued, knowing only that he was feeling a little lightheaded with the lack of oxygen in his body. But then it was all over in a flash as Arthur dropped his hands to Eames’s shoulders and pulled away jerkily. Eames blinked his eyes open just in time to notice a small trickle of blood fall from Arthur’s bottom lip down his chin from where the dream worker had caught it on a fang when pulling away. Then he noticed Arthur turning around, looking murderously at the person who must have tapped the Point Man on the shoulder to cause the disturbance. Unfortunately, Arthur didn’t seem to realize who it was until he was already speaking. “Back off, he’s mine!” Arthur hissed, causing a shiver to roll up Eames’s spine at the dangerous tone.

 

Ariadne, similarly, looked startled and jumped backward slightly at the voice and Arthur’s sudden attention. The young Architect also held her hands up in a sort of surrender sign, probably hoping to appease Arthur. Unfortunately the damage had already been done and Arthur had quickly stiffened in Eames’s arms and lap, going ramrod straight and unyielding. Eames had also stiffened, but in a much more inappropriate way at Arthur’s possessive tone. The Point Man seemed to notice his sudden interest pressing against the swell of the dream worker’s ass, and glanced back at Eames.

 

The Forger had to feel somewhat bad for his teammate, considering the situation he had just found himself in. Kissing Eames – no doubt to bother the mark into doing something stupid – and then yelling at the girl he likes while continuing to uphold his image. At the same time, he suddenly found himself seated on top of a very prominent erection. The only good thing about the situation was that Ariadne couldn’t see Eames’s interest because Arthur was seated on it. “I um…sorry,” Ariadne muttered, giggling nervously. “I just wanted to tell you that we got the mark’s account number so we can leave the dream early.”

 

There was a moment of silence, and then when it seemed clear Arthur wasn’t planning on saying anything, Eames piped in. “You got the account number? How?” He had dropped his hand from Arthur’s hair, but both of them were still wrapped around the man’s narrow waist. Despite the current situation, it still felt like the most comfortable way to sit.

 

“You’re joking, right?” Ariadne rolled her eyes, stepping to the side slightly so Eames didn’t have to glance over Arthur’s shoulder to see her. “He was practically drooling on the edge of the stage watching you two. It didn’t require many more lies and promises of getting a private showing of the pair of you before he was spewing his account numbers.” There was another long moment of silence. Ariadne was watching the two of them, Arthur was staring at him – seemingly frozen – and Eames was glancing between them awkwardly. “Anyways…” Ariadne continued when no one spoke, “I’m headed back up now. Dom already went up with the mark to deal with him.”

 

It was only then that he realized the rest of the club was empty except for the dream workers. Arthur was still focused on him, so it was only Eames who saw the long look Ariadne sent the two of them before drawing a gun and heading back up to reality. He swallowed, partially at watching someone so young being forced to do something like that to get out of the dream, and also at the thought of what would be awaiting him in reality. Was Ariadne angry about what had happened down here for the job? Confused?

 

Eames was definitely confused.

 

He turned his attention to the Point Man still in his lap, hoping to receive some sort of explanation. He wanted to know if this meant everything had been forgiven from the night before, and if this had just been for the job. It certainly hadn’t felt like it was forced or fake for a performance, but Eames was scared to hope. It would be even worse if he was imagining things, because he definitely would not be able to explain away the remaining erection very easily. “Arthur--”

 

The Point Man, looking shocked and scared, pulled a gun in a flash and was gone. Eames swallowed and shoved the dead body aside, feeling sick as he materialized his own gun and headed up to reality. He had only been a few seconds behind the other man, and was desperately determined to get an answer this time around – unlike the night before. But once again, Arthur was gone when he blinked his eyes open in the otherwise-occupied warehouse.

 

The only thing remaining to prove Arthur had been there at all was the needle and lead hanging limply from the lawn chair armrest, swinging slightly to show how quickly the Point Man had fled.


	4. Part IV: The Aftermath

**Part IV. The Aftermath**

 

Eames wasn’t sure what he was feeling when his body finally drained of dream chemicals. He knew there was still a dazed little smile on his lips from the lingering weight of Arthur’s lips on his. But at the same time his heart was clenching painfully at the rejection attached to the Point Man’s quick escape. It must have all been a part of the role to get the mark to talk – who was still lying unconscious in a further lawn chair – and Arthur must have been scared off by Eames’s eager reciprocation.

 

The Forger forced himself to stand calmly, well aware of the fact that the other two dream workers still in the warehouse were watching him carefully. He began cleaning and repacking the PASIV with a measured slowness, doing his best to hide his roiling emotions from the others. Once he was finished, only a minute or so later since everyone had returned to reality, Eames briefly met Cobb’s and Ariadne’s gazes. “I guess you’ll call me when another job turns up?” he questioned as an awkward sort of farewell.

 

Ariadne, who by that point and been stony in her silence, huffed and crossed her arms angrily. “Aren’t you going after Arthur?”

 

“I—no!” Eames disagreed quickly. He wanted Arthur to be happy, and if that required him to salvage Arthur and Ariadne’s potential relationship, so be it.

 

“Why not?” she snapped, looking like a thundercloud now.

 

“He--!”

 

“ _What_ , Eames?” She spoke over him, her voice quiet but sharp as it reverberated off the cement flooring and walls. “What could be so important to deter that goofy look of bliss on your face?”

 

Eames felt his face flush slightly when his smile – which had not yet wilted after the kiss – was drawn to attention. “He likes you!” he yelled in response, hating how much it hurt to say those words aloud – to finally admit the truth behind them.

 

To his surprise, the Architect snorted in disbelief. “Trust me, if he liked me we wouldn’t still be single,” Ariadne admitted, her words hurting Eames further even though she was clearly trying to speak them in a reassuring manner. He had not been wrong in assuming her interest in Arthur. However, even though he wanted to just tune out and stop listening now, he forced himself to listen as the girl continued. “I’ve tried,” she gave a sad smile, “but it has never been me, Eames.” Her eyes focused on him, making sure he was paying attention even though he didn’t want to allow himself to hope anymore. “It has always been you.”

 

“But he hates me,” he retorted easily. How could they argue that Arthur liked him over Ariadne? The Point Man had always avoided dealing with him whenever possible, and had always chosen Ariadne’s company over him. Up until this job, Eames had never believed Arthur would even be willing to spend time with him for a role – inside or outside of the dream.

 

“There’s a fine line between love and hate,” Dom cut in, surprising Eames even more. He knew the Extractor had been watching them just as intently as Ariadne down in the dream. But he also knew that Cobb thought of Arthur as family – as someone who would always be under his protection. It seemed all too serious when Dom joined in on this conversation; Eames couldn’t see the man lying if it would hurt Arthur. “Arthur has never been that skilled at expressing love, so he just falls back to his safety net – what he knows how to convey.”

 

“I don’t know—I mean, I…” he trailed off, realizing he was babbling. His heart was racing with renewed hope, and he couldn’t think of a reason why the other two dream workers would lie to him about this.

 

“Are you willing to lose him, Eames?” Cobb asked him softly, though his words were dangerously serious in their tone.

 

Eames bit his lip, feeling a little uncomfortable talking about this with Arthur’s figurative ‘brother’ and his female friend who also had feelings for the man. But at the same time, he was ready to admit his feelings no matter what. “No,” he confessed, feeling the truth in his heart. If he was rejected, so be it. He had to at least try – to let Arthur know how he felt. At least he wouldn’t continue wondering for the rest of his days. “No, I’m not willing to lose him,” he restated as he finished packing up the PASIV and inching towards the door.

 

“Get going then,” Ariadne shooed him in the direction of the exit; Eames took it as an offering of permission.

 

“Catch him at the hotel before he flies out,” Cobb recommended, “And don’t you dare hurt him.”

 

Eames nodded, both in agreement and thanks, and then dashed out onto the main streets. The sidewalks were busy with late commuters and window shoppers at that time in the morning, who he tried to weave through with as much precision as possible. He was terrified that the Point Man would have fled to the airport already, leaving the team with absolutely no indication of his location until he wanted to be found. Eames practically streaked across the hotel lobby when he arrived and fell into the elevator, panting and clutching the metal handle of the PASIV case with white knuckles.

 

He found Arthur’s door and did his best to compose himself before knocking solidly. At first there was no response, but Eames was not willing to give up so easily anymore. “Arthur, it’s me. I need to talk with you,” he bellowed as he knocked again, not stopping until he heard the quiet approach of feet on carpet.

 

The sound of the door’s locks being undone could be heard, and Eames shifted his weight from one foot to the other nervously. “Eames, what--?” Arthur began when he finally pulled the door inward, though Eames didn’t give the man a chance to say anything more. The Forger pushed in through the door, pushed it closed behind him, and pinned Arthur to the nearest wall.

 

His teammate looked like he was going to protest so Eames pressed their lips together demandingly, hoping he might be able to express himself like this. Much to his delight, Arthur groaned into his mouth and pulled him closer, effectively pinning himself between Eames’s body and the wall. Eames was not about to complain as he allowed the PASIV to tumble from his grasp to the floor and began running both of his hands over every inch of Arthur’s body he could reach.

 

Eventually they were forced to part for oxygen, breathing hard in one another’s air and holding each other’s eyes. “Arthur…” Eames breathed, pausing to swallow and build up his courage. “I think I’m in love with you.”

 

His stomach dropped when he saw Arthur’s eyes narrow a split second before the other dream worker shoved him away. “You _think_?” Arthur hissed, body immediately going stiff and unwelcoming as he stepped away from the wall.

 

“Is that really all you got out of that declaration?” Eames snapped, his body already running wild with adrenaline and arousal from the kiss and nerves.

 

“Eames,” Arthur shook his head, backing away from him towards the door, “I have been in love with you for the last three years.” Eames swallowed hard, mentally counting back the years and realizing that must have been only a few jobs after their first one together. “I cannot stand around watching you leave me behind while you drink and gamble and sleep around. I can’t survive that pain any longer, do you understand?” Eames was dumbfounded as he watched Arthur walk backwards towards the door and pull it open again. “If you’re not sure, then just do me a favour and leave now.”

 

Eames was on Arthur in seconds, pushing his teammate against the door and forcing it closed again as their lips re-joined. It was a short connection though; words were needed now. “I wanted you since Inception, darling,” Eames admitted softly, loving the feel of Arthur flush against him while pressed to the door. “And not just for one night. I buried those feelings though because I thought you liked Ariadne and it hurt too much.”

 

“And now?” Arthur asked, clearly trying to sound calm but not managing to keep his voice even.

 

“And now with this job, all of those feelings have come back stronger than ever,” Eames skimmed his lips along Arthur’s neck, remembering how it had felt for Arthur to allow him to bite his neck. “As we practiced I realized how much I loved the dynamic we were beginning to share – and the sensation and trust that came along with it. I wanted to say something, especially when you were being so affectionate – I thought…maybe…” he shrugged uselessly. “But then you said you were like that with anyone you shared that with…”

 

Before he realized what was happening, Arthur’s hands were cupping Eames’s face again. Their lips met in a flurry, Arthur’s whole body pressing against him with such force that Eames stumbled backwards. Luckily the Point Man led him backwards towards a different wall, where Eames’s back came to rest with their combined weight. He gasped at the contact and Arthur pulled away. “You moron!” the man chided him, nipping his bottom lip hard. “The only other person I have shared this with – _all of this_ – was my ex. I was trying to tell you how special it was to me, that I had found someone else to share this with. I thought you were rejecting how I was acting with you – like you found it disgusting.”

 

Eames blinked for a long moment, trying to comprehend what Arthur was telling him. As the Forger had suspected, everything had been a huge misunderstanding. Eames had thought Arthur meant he acted that affectionate with everyone he shared the kink with – and that it was a large number of people who had shared it with the man. And Arthur had taken Eames’s withdrawal as a rejection of the whole kink and actions on a personal level. “So on the job…” he began slowly, hesitant but growing bolder with his hope.

 

“If you ask me whether or not that was an act, I will skin you alive,” Arthur’s eyes narrowed, cheeks flushing – hopefully with the memory of the end of their job.

 

Eames felt his smile return and quickly bloom into a brilliant grin. “Does that mean I can kiss you again now?”

 

“You had better,” Arthur insisted with a smirk, wrapping his arms around Eames’s neck. Eames took that opportunity to slot their lips together again, this time slower. Every other time they had kissed there had been misunderstandings and impatience between them; this time he wanted to savour each slide of flesh and lips and tongue. He pushed back against his teammate as he grasped Arthur by the hips, pulling their bodies together tightly as they both moaned. They stumbled backwards and nearly fell to the ground when Arthur tripped on the forgotten PASIV. They pulled apart and Arthur glanced down, “Why did you bring that?”

 

“Well…” Eames bit his lip nervously when curious brown eyes landed on him. He wondered how Arthur would respond to his proposal – having not even expected to get this far – but realized there was no point turning back now. If Arthur wasn’t interested, then at least he had made the offer. “I remembered you saying down in the dream when we were practicing that you were only acting submissive for the role. So I thought I’d bring the PASIV and offer a change in roles.”

 

Arthur’s eyes flickered between the dream device and Eames a few times, wide and growing dark with obvious lust. “You’d be willing…?”

 

“Of course, darling,” Eames hummed, allowing both his nervousness and anticipation to be visible in the way he stood waiting for a decision. Although he knew it would hurt, he would be willing to do anything for Arthur. It helped when he remembered how his teammate had been down in the dream that one time Arthur had allowed his dominance to shine through their dynamic. “Anything for you.”

 

The Point Man knelt down to grab the silver case’s handle before straightening. Their fingers laced together a moment before the other man led the Forger out of the front hallway and into the large sitting area. It barely looked lived-in, and Eames assumed Arthur had already nearly finished packing before going to the job that morning. Eames was expecting – hoping – that he was being led towards the bedroom, but instead Arthur pushed him down onto one of the plush couches before busying himself with unpacking the PASIV.

 

He realized that Arthur was unwilling to do this in reality anymore, after his previous loss. But Eames didn’t feel the need to argue this point; he would be more comfortable doing this in the dreamscape anyway, even though he trusted Arthur with his life. Even though he had enjoyed sharing the kink with Arthur – and was certainly looking forward to more – it still wasn’t something he wanted to bring into reality.

 

Arthur handed him a lead after setting the opened PASIV on the coffee table. “You’re sure?” the man asked as he settled beside Eames on the couch, holding his own needle.

 

Eames allowed a small smile when he felt the weight of Arthur’s head resting on his shoulder. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t sure,” he reassured his companion before slipping the cold metal of the needle beneath his skin. It only took a few seconds for the dreamscape to build around him, showing off a tasteful apartment that didn’t look terribly different from the hotel suite they had just left. It looked pristine and organized, and although it looked somewhat unlived-in, Eames could tell a lot of work had been put into decorating. Arthur was standing beside him, and Eames didn’t bother hiding his curiosity at where the other man had chosen for this. “Where are we?”

 

“My apartment,” Arthur admitted, standing somewhat stiffly as he watched Eames look around the room. “With a few changes to keep reality separate, of course.”

 

“Arthur…” Eames whispered in disbelief, amazed Arthur had been willing to show him such a private, personal place the Point Man normally kept to himself. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

 

“You can see the real place, once we’ve woken,” Arthur offered somewhat shyly, stepping away from Eames to head down the hallway with measured steps. With words and a promise like that in the air, Eames could do nothing but follow obediently, feeling his heart racing. He had been scared of admitting his feelings to himself, let alone to Arthur – fearful of rejection. And now that he had taken that leap, he could barely comprehend what he was receiving in return for his courage.

 

Arthur had been in love with him for years – the man had said so himself. Eames couldn’t find it in himself to worry over the lost time though. Instead, all he could think about was the fact that Arthur wanted to be with him, share everything with him, and was ready to do so as soon as Eames was also ready. The Forger could hardly wait.

 

When he entered the bedroom, he found Arthur already standing beside the large bed, placing his weighted die on the left nightstand. That more than anything struck Eames – the amount of trust between them strong enough for Arthur to leave his totem out in the open. Wanting to return this level of trust, Eames made his way around the bed and drew his poker chip from his back pocket, allowing it to rest beside the red die. Arthur’s eyes tracked his movements, a small smile blossoming into existence when he saw what Eames was doing.

 

Arthur leaned forward, lips almost brushing Eames’s own but just too far for that wonderful contact. “On the bed with you, Mr. Eames.”

 

The atmosphere shifted immediately. The air felt charged as Arthur gently nudged Eames backwards until his knees hooked on the edge of the mattress and the Forger tumbled backwards. Eames was expecting Arthur to follow him down, but the Point Man remained standing by the edge of the mattress, watching him. So Eames pulled himself towards the centre of the bed and waited. Even though he considered himself rather versatile, he was relatively unaccustomed to playing the submissive role. He decided that the safest option would be to follow Arthur’s lead.

 

Luckily he didn’t have to wait long. Once Arthur was sure he had settled, the other dream worker followed him onto the bed. Eames watched, mouth dry, as Arthur moved closer to eventually straddle Eames’s hips, grinding down slightly to gain the interest of Eames’s clothed erection. “Arthur…” Eames growled warningly, placing a palm on each of Arthur’s thighs before he could think about his actions.

 

Arthur’s fingers laced with his and lightly removed Eames’s hands to pin them to the mattress on either side of his body. “There will be no touching without my order, understood?” Arthur’s voice was warm but stern, caring but not exactly kind. All Eames could do was nod. “Good,” Arthur’s smirk was barely visible, but Eames caught it. “Feel free to talk though; I like hearing the things that come out of your fuckable lips.”

 

“You will be the death of me, darling,” Eames sighed, sounding more breathy than he meant it to be. Arthur’s smirk grew as the other man’s hands disappeared to begin undoing the buttons on Eames’s shirt. It didn’t take long – Arthur’s fingers wonderfully skilled – and then Arthur was leading him out of his shirt to leave Eames sprawled on the mattress, bare-chested.

 

“I saw your tattoos once,” Arthur murmured like it was a secret. “The day I realized I wanted you for more than one night. Do you remember the Walker job?” the Point Man kept talking under his breath as he began tracing one solitary finger over each inch of Eames’s tattooed skin.

 

Eames nodded again, eyelids drooping slightly at the contact. The Walker job had been their third job together; a simple job, but the first time Arthur and Eames had been thrown together in partnership – relying on one another to survive and complete the mission. “I got shot,” Eames offered, knowing the story Arthur was drawing from their memories but wanting to hear it from Arthur’s perspective now that he knew how the other man had been beginning to feel.

 

“Yes you did,” Arthur nodded sadly, more fingers joining in the quest to touch and caress each tattoo. “I had never before been so sure my heart had stopped, when I saw the blood blooming on your shirt.”

 

Despite the previous order, Eames took a risk and captured one of Arthur’s wandering hands with his own. He saw Arthur’s eyes flash to meet Eames’s, watching as Eames kissed each fingertip and then the palm. “It was just a dream, love,” he whispered against Arthur’s skin, hating the lost look in his teammate’s eyes.

 

“I know,” Arthur admitted, allowing the capture of his hand. “But at the time I didn’t know what it all meant – what I was feeling. I was suddenly terrified of losing you, of seeing you suffer – even in a dream. And then you took your shirt off…” Arthur chuckled lightly, sounding half lost in a memory and half in a trance as he began tracing Eames’s skin again. “We got the bullet out and got you patched up, but even as I focused on keeping you alive long enough to finish the job, I couldn’t stop looking at these tattoos. I realized I wanted to know the story behind them all – wanted to know _your_ story. And I wanted to make sure you lived long enough to someday tell me,” Arthur added on at the end, voice sounding like a warning.

 

“I’ll tell you it all, sweetheart,” Eames promised, allowing his teammate to pin his hands to the mattress again. He felt dizzy with desire and adoration after Arthur’s confession. Eames felt a swell in his chest and a happy warmth coiling in his stomach at the knowledge that Arthur loved him, wanted him.

 

“Good,” the Point Man smiled, almost looking relieved. Then Eames was forced to watch as Arthur undid his tie, threw it aside, and got rid of his shirt immediately after. He wanted to touch the other man desperately but kept his hands by his sides as Arthur leaned down and began running his tongue along inked skin, nipping occasionally as he made his way up towards Eames’s neck. Arthur paused when his lips were against Eames’s external carotid artery, and nestled his head in the crook of Eames’s neck. “Touch me, Eames.”

 

Eames was a little surprised by the demand, not expecting the allowance now that he was acting in the submissive role, but didn’t need to be told twice. He brought both hands up to brush his palms over Arthur’s bare back, feeling the tense, flexing muscles greedily. Then he dragged his hands down to squeeze the swell of Arthur’s ass, pulling their groins together. Arthur moaned against Eames’s neck at the contact and Eames could feel both of them begin to swell in their pants. But Arthur, even as he continued to suck and nibble at Eames’s neck, wouldn’t bite down. “Bite me,” he begged, impatient for more, “I trust you.”

 

Arthur groaned at his words and finally bit down, this time with long, clean fangs. Eames gasped and arched backwards at the pain, his hands digging into Arthur’s skin and hooking beneath the man’s waistband to touch a few inches lower. His eyes beaded with tears as he clenched them closed, but Arthur knew what he was doing and quickly drew his attention away from the pain. Eames could feel the skilled movement of a hot tongue against his skin, lapping at the blood tickling his neck while soothing away the pain.

 

There was a sharp pinch when Arthur began to suck harder, which caused Eames to buck up against the other man and moan in the back of his throat. He was almost fully hard now, being dragged towards a heated frenzy as Arthur rutted down against him in a rhythmic fashion. Far too soon though, Arthur pulled away and stopped his movements, falling still above Eames. “Problem?” Eames panted, confused and concerned by the sudden pause.

 

“I…I don’t know,” Arthur grimaced slightly, staring down at Eames in matching confusion. Eames couldn’t help but thrust up slightly at the slight of his own blood staining Arthur’s pale lips red, which caused Arthur’s eyes to flutter closed and grind down hard. “I like this but it’s not what I want.”

 

“Then tell me what you want, darling,” Eames requested, trying to keep himself calm. He reminded himself that if Arthur didn’t want him at all, the man would not still be straddled above him.

 

Arthur ground down again, circling his ass on Eames’s prominent erection. “I want to feel you in me,” his companion moaned, grabbing one of Eames’s hands and pressing it against Arthur’s tented pants.

 

“That’s not very dominant of you,” Eames teased lightly, palming Arthur’s clothed cock with enough force to have the man moaning above him.

 

“I don’t understand it,” Arthur groaned, sounding equally aroused and aggravated. “I don’t like to be submissive.”

 

“You don’t like it in general, darling,” Eames agreed, quickly switching their positions and pressing Arthur down into the mattress. He maintained their new rhythm of rutting their cocks together, smiling down at Arthur as the other man closed his eyes and whined for more. “But maybe you love it with me,” he added, leaning down and catching those lips harshly enough to bruise. Eames was versatile, but this was definitely his element.

 

“Yes,” Arthur moaned into his mouth, digging fingers into Eames’s short hair to hold him in place as heat flashed through both of them. It was some bizarre mix of dominance and submission, but it seemed to match the dynamic they had been developing since their first meeting. Neither of them was truly submissive or dominant; they had always been equals in every sense of their developing partnership.

 

They kissed and thrust against one another for a long time, panting into each other’s mouths but refusing to detach themselves. But then when Eames pulled away and reached for the top button of Arthur’s pants, his teammate stilled his hand. “Let’s wake up, Eames,” Arthur suggested seriously. “I don’t want this to be a dream.”

 

“Alright, pet,” Eames kissed Arthur again quickly before they both woke themselves up. It felt like a beat had skipped on a playing record when they opened their eyes on the couch in the hotel again, but it passed quickly as Arthur pulled himself into Eames’s lap. They met again in another frenzied, wet kiss, Arthur momentarily trailing his lips down to nip at Eames’s now-healed neck. Eames groaned at the slight pain, fingers working on Arthur’s tie and shirt again now that they were back in reality.

 

Arthur worked on Eames’s shirt in return, the job taking much longer than normal as they fumbled blindly while kissing madly. Once their upper bodies were bare again, Arthur pulled himself off the couch to stand. “Get those pants off,” Arthur demanded with another flash of dominance before stepping away to the bathroom.

 

Eames did as he was told and threw his pants and underwear to the floor before settling back on the couch. Arthur returned a moment later and stood between Eames’s spread legs, top button of his pants undone and begging to be removed. Eames, always ready to oblige, reached forward and undid the second button and zipper. But before he pulled the barrier of fabric away, he slid his hand down and held Arthur strongly in one hand, tugging playfully. “You like that, love?” he hummed, well aware of his own cock twitching in the open air for Arthur to view.

 

“Fuck, yes,” Arthur thrust into his hand as his eyes drifted closed. Eames noticed a bottle of lotion that had been retrieved from the bathroom in the Point Man’s hand, and promptly paused in his actions to help Arthur out of his pants and underwear.

 

Immediately, Arthur was back in his lap, pressing their swollen lengths together between them. “You going to ride me, darling?” Eames spoke against Arthur’s sweaty skin, doing his best to drag oxygen into his lungs as his body flushed and tensed. “Going to fuck yourself down on my cock until you’re begging to come and screaming my name?”

 

“ _Fuck_ …”

 

“Or shall I fuck you down into the couch cushions until you’ll feel me in you for a week?” Eames continued, spurred on by Arthur’s now almost-continuous moan. “Cover your body with mine and make you remember just how great it feels to be submissive with me?”

 

“ _Eames_ …” Arthur keened his name, even as he rose to his knees and pressed the lotion bottle into Eames’s hands. “Fuck me however you want. Just leave me filled at the end.”

 

“Fuck, Arthur,” Eames groaned as he dipped two fingers into the lotion. The mere thought of filling Arthur with his come had Eames’s cock leaking against his stomach.

 

“Both fingers at once,” Arthur demanded, maintaining their newfound equilibrium. “I want it to hurt a bit.” Eames was circling both fingers around that hot, puckered hole, but met Arthur’s gaze nervously. “I trust you, Eames.”

 

Eames craned his neck forward to kiss those addictive lips in thanks for that trust. Then he pressed both coated fingers in carefully, making sure to coat each inch of Arthur’s insides in preparation. Despite Arthur’s words, Eames refused to cause more pain than what would be felt with a bite, and Arthur didn’t seem to mind him taking it slow as he thrust his fingers in and out and scissored them. Arthur was busy grinding down on his fingers and stroking more lotion onto Eames’s pulsing length, causing a moan to resonate in the back of Eames’s throat.

 

“That’s good,” Arthur whispered eventually, shifting away from Eames’s searching fingers. “Now I want you in me.”

 

“So impatient,” Eames chuckled as he withdrew his fingers and wiped the excess lotion on his thigh.

 

“I’ve wanted this for a long time, Eames,” Arthur reminded him, shifting back into position so that the blunt crown of Eames’s cock was lined up against Arthur and held in place there. “I’ve _thought_ about this for a long time.”

 

“Well I’m not going to make you wait any longer, love,” Eames promised. He held onto Arthur by his hips, made sure the angle was right, and then pushed his partner down strongly. Arthur’s nails dug down into Eames’s shoulders almost painfully as the other dream worker gasped loudly, the sound half muffled as Arthur bit his lip.

 

Once Arthur sunk down in Eames’s lap fully, the Forger’s cock buried deep within Arthur’s body, they both paused for a long moment. Arthur leaned forward and brushed their lips together tenderly, pace unhurried and calm, and then the lips were gone again. The next moment Eames felt the sharp pinch of blunt human teeth nipping the skin of his neck right when Arthur lifted his body and rutted back down hard on Eames’s cock, taking him in all the way again. “So much better than I imagined,” Arthur praised against Eames’s skin before finding a new location and biting down again.

 

Eames cried out at the mix of pleasure and pain as he held Arthur’s hips tighter and pushed his lover down to meet each one of his claiming thrusts upwards. “You feel so perfect, darling,” Eames moaned, arching his neck back to expose every inch of skin Arthur might want. “So hot as your body hugs me. It’s like you’re pulling me in deeper, not wanting me to go. You like me in you, love? Like the feel of my cock claiming you as my own?”

 

“Love your cock, love your mouth,” Arthur laughed breathlessly as he spoke, panting and sweaty as he continued to bounce in Eames’s lap. “You belong in me. _With_ me.”

 

Eames noticed the slightly scared look in those brown eyes, like Arthur wasn’t sure this was reality, that Eames wasn’t going to leave after this was over. “I’m not going anywhere, love,” he promised. Arthur seemed to take this as adequate and nodded, the ability to speak falling away between them as their pace quickened.

 

Arthur returned his mouth to Eames’s skin, kissing, sucking and nipping a mouth-shaped mark onto his skin before moving to a new location. Eames felt that evil mouth against both sides of his jaw, neck, collarbone, shoulders and chest. Arthur was panting against Eames’s skin as he worked, moaning his pleasure occasionally while doing his best to meet each of Eames’s thrusts. Eames was leading Arthur up and down with his hands, thrusting up into Arthur’s body to the hilt each time. He was leaning back against the couch, also struggling for breath and unable to think of anything beyond the feel of Arthur’s mouth and ass on and around him.

 

He reached one hand down to begin stroking Arthur’s cock in time their movements, which had Arthur calling his name and sucking marks onto his skin with vigour. “Eames…” Arthur’s voice fell from his lips as a warning, the man’s movements uncoordinated now as they continued to move together. “I’m going to—going to _come_ …”

 

The last word was choked off with a loud cry of Eames’s name as Arthur tumbled over the edge. Hot come spilt over Eames’s working fist, causing his hand to glide over Arthur’s pulsing length. His lover’s body clenched around him, squeezing tightly, while Arthur yanked Eames into a brutal kiss. “ _Arthur_ …” Eames moaned into his companion’s mouth, dying for oxygen but willing to die like this.

 

Arthur pulled away when his body finally calmed down, both of them gasping in air. The other man’s body was still pulsing around his cock, and he was racing towards his own end. “Come on, Eames,” Arthur whispered weakly, “ _Fill me_.”

 

That was all it took as Eames thrust up one last time, Arthur’s body clenching around him and mouth sucking yet another mark into existence. Eames’s hand abandoned Arthur’s softening cock to push his lover down into his lap as he thrust up one final time, burying himself deeply. He came with a loud moan, pulsing hot ropes of come into Arthur’s willing body with the feel of Arthur’s teeth sinking into his skin.

 

It seemed to go on forever, his body wound to its limit and falling to pieces as Arthur held him close – held him steady. Finally he felt his body calming as his cock began to soften inside Arthur’s hot body. He pulled himself out carefully and allowed both of them to fall sideways along the length of the couch. Eames made sure Arthur was on top of him so that he would not crush his lover, and they both sunk into the cushions tiredly. His whole body felt relaxed for the first time in ages, and he felt thrilled at the thought that Arthur had shared this with him, and that this wasn’t the only or last time.

 

He felt Arthur sigh contently against his neck as his companion nuzzled the skin there, and Eames wrapped his arms around Arthur’s bare skin to hold him close. “I take back the ‘thinking’ part of my earlier statement, darling,” Eames muttered quietly into Arthur’s ear, catching his lover’s attention before they both fell asleep. “I am entirely in love with you.”

 

“I love you, too,” Arthur hummed and then sat up slightly, the lower halves of their bodies still lined up in a sweaty, sticky mess. His partner blinked down at him wearily, though the tired smile refused to fall. Eames felt and saw those beautiful brown eyes scanning over his form, and noticed them narrow slightly. “You should have told me to stop, Eames,” Arthur chided him lightly, eyes still scanning over his bare skin. “I really marked you badly.”

 

Eames finally glanced down and noticed the bruising marks across his upper body and arms. Even though he couldn’t see them, Eames knew by the light throbbing that there were more littering his neck from where Arthur had bitten him again and again as they neared orgasm. He shrugged Arthur’s worries aside and pulled the man back down, kissing his temple as Arthur moulded himself against Eames again. “I like them, darling,” he confessed. “They’re love bites.”

**Author's Note:**

> **You can check out[here](http://onewhositswiththeturtles.tumblr.com/) to follow my Tumblr for info about me and story updates.**


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